MY    COMMONPLACE    BOOK 


MY 

COMMONPLACE 
BOOK 

J.  T.  HACKETT 


"  Omne  meum,  nihil  meum 


NEW  YORK : 
MOFFAT  YARD  &  COMPANY 

1921 


First  publication  in  Great  Britain,  September,  1919. 
Second  English  Edition,  September,  1920. 
Third  English   Edition,  January,    1921. 


(All  Rights  Reserved) 
PRINTED  IN  GREAT  BRITAIN 


O  Memories  ! 
0  Past  that  is  ! 

GEORGE  EWOT. 


2021281 


DEDICATED 

TO  MY 
DEAR  FRIEXD 


RICHARD    HODGSON 

WHO  HAS   PASSED   OVER 
TO  THE  OTHER  SIDE 


Of  wounds  and  sore  defeat 

I  made  my  battle-stay  ; 

Winged  sandals  for  my  feet 

I  wove  of  my  delay  ; 

Of  weariness  and  fear 

I  made  my  shouting  spear  ; 

Of  loss,  and  doubt,  and  dread, 

And  swift  oncoming  doom 

I  made  a  helmet  for  my  head 

And  a  floating  plume. 

From  the  shutting  mist  of  death, 

From  the  failure  of  the  breath 

I  made  a  battle-horn  to  blow 

Across  the  vales  of  overthrow. 

O  hearken,  love,  the  battle-horn  I 

The  triumph  clear,  the  silver  scorn  I 

O  hearken  where  the  echoes  bring. 

Down  the  grey  disastrous  morn, 

Laughter  and  rallying  !  * 

WITJJAM  VAUGHN  MOODY. 

From  Richard  Hodgson's  Christmas  Card,  1904,  the  Christmas  before  his  death. 


I  cannot  but  remember  such  things  were. 
That  were  most  precious  to  me. 

MACBETH,  IV,  t,. 


PREFACE* 


A  lyARGE  proportion  of  the  most  interesting  quotations  in  this 
book  was  collected  between  1874  and  1886.  During  that  period 
I  was  under  the  influence  of  Richard  Hodgson,  who  was  my 
close  friend  from  childhood.  To  him  directly  and  indirectly 
this  book  is  largely  indebted. 

Hodgson  (1855-1905)  had  a  remarkably  pure,  noble,  and 
lovable  character,  and  was  one  of  the  most  gifted  men  Australia 
has  produced.  He  is  known  in  philosophic  circles  from  some  early 
contributions  to  Mind  and  other  journals,  but  is  mainly  known 
from  his  work  in  psychical  research,  to  which  he  devoted  the  best 
years  of  his  life.  Apart  from  his  great  ability  in  other  directions, 
he  was  endowed,  even  in  youth,  with  fine  taste  and  a  clear  and 
mature  literary  judgment.  This  will  appear  to  some  extent  in 
the  quotations  over  his  name,  and  the  note  on  p.  208  will  give 
further  particulars  of  his  career.  He  was  from  two  to  three  years 
older  than  myself,  and  guided  me  in  my  early  reading.  There- 
fore, indirectly,  he  has  to  do  with  most  of  the  contents  of  this 
book. 

But,  more  than  this,  about  one-third  of  the  main  quotations 
(not  including  the  notes  which  I  have  only  now  added)  came  direct 
from  Hodgson.  He  left  Australia  in  1877,  but  we  maintained 
a  voluminous  correspondence  until  1886.  This  correspondence 
contained  most  of  the  quotations  referred  to,  and  the  remainder 

*  To  the  readers  of  the  Adelaide  edition  (which  was  issued  only  in  Australia)  I 
should  explain  why  the  book  is  now  so  much  enlarged.  The  first  issue  was  prepared 
hastily  and  without  sufficient  care.  (The  proceeds  were  to  go  to  the  Australian  Repa- 
triation Fund,  and  the  book  was  hurriedly  put  together  and  printed  to  be  ready  for  a 
Repatriation  Day  which  was  announced  but  actually  was  never  held.)  It  was  my  first 
experience  in  publishing,  and  I  did  not  realize  the  care  and  consideration  required  in 
issuing  a  book  even  of  this  character.  Hence  (i)  part  of  my  manuscript  was  entirely 
overlooked  ;  (2)  I  failed  to  see  that  many  quotations  would  be  improved  by  adding  theii 
context  ;  (3)  I  did  not  go  properly  through  the  great  mass  of  Hodgson's  correspondence  ; 
and  (4)  I,  wrongly,  as  I  now  think,  excluded  many  quotations  because  I  thought  certain 
subjects  were  unsuitable  for  the  book.  Besides  extending  the  scope  of  the  collection 
by  including  those  subjects  I  now  have  no  longer  restricted  myself  to  the  seventy-eighty 
period.  The  notes  also  add  materially  to  the  size  of  this  volume. 


x  PREFACE 

Hodgson  gave  me  in  London  on  the  only  occasion  I  met  him  after 
he  left  Australia.  (After  1886  he  became  so  immersed  in 
psychical  research,  and  I  in  legal  work,  that  our  correspondence 
ceased  to  be  of  a  literary  character.)  Thus  directly  and  indirectly 
Hodgson  has  much  to  do  with  the  book — and,  if  it  had  been 
practicable,  I  would  have  placed  his  name  on  the  title-page. 

This  book  is  simply  one  to  be  taken  up  at  odd  moments,  like 
any  other  collection  of  quotations.  But  there  are  two  reasons 
why  it  may  have  some  special  interest.  One  reason  is  that  it 
includes  passages  from  a  number  of  authors  who  appear  to  have 
become  forgotten,  or,  at  any  rate,  to  be  passing  Lethe-wards. 
We,  who  dwell  in  the  underworld,*  cannot,  of  course,  have  a 
complete  knowledge  of  what  is  known  or  forgotten  in  the  inner 
literary  circles  of  England.  We  can  depend  only  on  the  books 
and  periodicals  that  happen  to  come  to  our  hands,  and  perhaps 
should  not  rely  too  much  on  su  h  sources  of  information.  Yet 
I  cannot  but  think  that  Robert  Buchanan,  for  example,  has 
become  largely  forgotten,  and  apparently  this  is  the  case  also 
with  a  number  of  other  authors  from  whom  I  quote.  Because  of 
this,  I  have  retained  all  the  passages  I  had  from  such  authors. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  this  book  is  not  an  anthology. 
A  commonplace  book  is  usually  a  collection  of  reminders  made 
by  a  young  man  who  cannot  afford  an  extensive  library.  There 
is  no  system  in  such  a  collection.  A  book  is  borrowed  and 
extracts  made  from  it ;  another  book  by  the  same  author  is  bought 
and  no  extract  made  from  it.  On  the  one  hand  a  favourite  verse, 
although  well  known,  is  written  out  for  some  reason  or  other  ; 
en  the  other  hand  hundreds  of  beautiful  poems  are  omitted. 
So  far  from  this  being  an  anthology,  I  have,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
omitted  many  poems  that  since  the  seventy-eighty  period  have 
become  general  favourites  ;  and,  as  regards  the  most  beautiful 
gems  of  our  literature,  they  are  almost  all  excluded.  There  are 
for  example,  only  a  few  lines  from  Shakespeare. 

Some  exceptions  have,  however,  been  made.  In  a  series  of 
word-pictures,  a  few  of  the  best-known  passages  will  be  found. 
A  few  others  have  been  included  for  reasons  that  will  readily 
appear  ;  they  either  form  part  of  a  series  or  the  reason  is  apparent 
from  the  notes.  Apart  from  these  I  have  retained  Blanco 
White's  great  sonnet  and  "The  Night  has  a  thousand  eyes," 
written  by  F.  W.  Bourdillon  when  an  undergraduate  at  Worcester 
College,  Oxford,  because  with  regard  to  these  I  had  an  interesting 
and  instructive  experience.  I  accidentally  discovered  that  of  four 
well-read  men  (two  at  least  of  them  more  thorough  students 

*  See  Tennyson's  "  Princess  "  : — 

Fresh  as  the  first  beam  glittering  on  a.  sail 
That  brings  our  friends  up  from  the  underworld 


PREFACE  xi 

of  poetry  than  myself)  two  were  ignorant  of  the  one  poem  and 
two  of  the  other.  Seeking  an  explanation,  I  turned  to  the  antho- 
logies. I  could  not  find  in  any  of  them  Bourdillon's  little  gem 
until  I  came  to  the  comparatively  recent  Oxford  Book  of  Victorian 
Verse  and  The  Spirit  of  Man.  The  Blanco  White  sonnet  I  could 
find  nowhere  except  in  collections  of  sonnets,  which  in  my  opinion 
are  little  read.  It  will  be  observed  that  in  anthologies  alone  can 
Blanco  White's  one  and  only  poem  be  kept  alive. 

The  second  reason  why  this  book  may  have  a  special  interest  is 
that  it  may  serve  as  a  reminder  to  my  contemporaries  of  our  stirring 
thoughts  and  experiences  in  the  seventies  and  eighties.  How 
interesting  this  period  was  it  is  difficult  to  show  in  a  few  lines. 
In  pure  literature,  books  of  value  simply  poured  from  the  press. 
In  the  closing  year,  1889,  "  One  who  never  turned  his  back, 
but  marched  breast  forward  "  died  on  the  day  that  his  last  book, 
Asolando,  was  published,  leaving  Tennyson,  an  old  man  of  eighty, 
the  sole  survivor  of  the  poets  of  a  great  period.  At  almost  the 
same  moment  "  Crossing  the  Bar  "  was  published. 

Apart  from  literature,  the  seventies  and  eighties  were  an 
eventful  period  in  science  and  religion.  Darwinism  was  still 
causing  its  tremendous  upheaval,  and  the  supposed  conflict 
between  religion  and  science  exercised  an  enormous  effect  on  the 
minds  of  men.  Evolution  had  explained  so  much  of  the  processes 
in  the  history  of  life,  that  the  majority  of  \hinkers  at  that  time 
imagined  that  no  room  was  left  for  the  super-natural.  Science 
was  supposed  to  have  given  a  death-blow  to  religion,  and  the 
greatest  wave  of  materialism  ever  known  in  the  history  of  the 
world  swept  over  England  and  Europe.  It  is  strange  how  many 
great  thinkers  missed  what  now  appears  so  obvious  a  fact,  that 
causality  still  stood  behind  all  law,  and  that  Darwin,  like  Newton, 
had  merely  helped  to  show  the  method  by  which  the  univeise 
is  governed.  (It  seems  to  me  that  J ames  Martineau  stood  supreme 
at  that  time  as  a  man  of  genius  who  saw  clearly  the  inherent 
defect  of  the  whole  materialist  movement.) 

However,  agnosticism,  materialism,  positivism  flourished  and 
triumphed.  Science,  whose  dignity  had  been  so  long  unrecog- 
nized, came  into  her  own,  and,  in  her  turn,  usurped  the  same 
dogmatic  superior  attitude  she  had  resented  in  ecclesiasticism. 
On  the  one  hand  pessimistic  literature  and  philosophy  poured 
from  the  press  ;  on  the  other  hand  new  religions  arose  to  take 
the  place  of  the  old.  Theosophy  and  spiritualism  were  in  evidence 
everywhere  (leading  in  1882  to  the  happy  result  that  the  Society 
for  Psychical  Research  was  founded).  Harrison,  Clifford,  Swin- 
burne and  others  preached  the  deiiication  of  man.  There  were 
discords  within,  as  well  as  foes  without  the  church.  The  severely 
orthodox  fought  against  the  revelations  of  Colenso  and  the  higher 


MI  PREFACE 

criticism ;  Seeley's  Ecce  Homo  and  a  host  of  other  works 
aroused  fierce  antagonism  ;  Pius  IX,  who  had  in  1864  published 
his  Syllabus  which  would  have  destroyed  modern  civilization, 
proclaimed  the  infallibility  of  the  Pope  in  1870 — and  in  1872 
was  deprived  of  temporal  power.  Such  questions  as  the  literal 
interpretation  and  inerrancy  of  the  Bible  were  the  subjects  of 
intense  conflict — and  especially  strange  is  it  to  remember  the 
dire  struggle  of  well-intentioned  men  to  maintain  the  horrible 
doctrine  of  eternal  punishment.  I  imagine  that  this  book 
will  assist  to  some  extent  in  recalling  the  atmosphere  and  aroma 
of  that  remarkable  period. 

I  have  made  very  little  attempt  to  arrange  my  quotations — 
and  now  wish  I  had  done  less  in  that  direction.  The  book 
is  intended  for  casual  reading,  and  to  arrange  it  under  headings 
would  tend  to  make  it  heavy.  The  element  of  surprise  is  more 
calculated  to  make  the  book  attractive. 

I  began  the  notes  that  are  appended  to  some  of  the  quotations 
with  the  intention  of  giving  only  such  short,  necessary  expla- 
nations as  would  be  of  assistance  to  the  inexperienced  reader. 
When,  however,  I  began  to  write,  I  found  my  pen  running  away 
with  me.  Apart  from  the  usual,  ineffectual  efforts  of  one's 
youth,  I  had  never  before  attempted  literary  work,  and  for  the 
first  time  experienced  the  great  pleasure  there  is  in  such  writing. 
With  the  immense  variety  of  subjects  in  a  collection  of  quotations, 
one  could  continue  to  write  over  a  series  of  years  ;  but  it  was 
necessary  to  keep  the  book  within  reasonable  bounds,  and,  there- 
fore, I  had  arbitrarily  to  come  to  a  stop.  In  the.se  notes  I  do  not 
claim  that  there  is  much,  if  any,  originality,*  they  are  mostly 
recollections  of  old  reading.  Still  they  may  serve  the  important 
purpose  of  revivifying  old  truths  (see  p.  78). 

I  have  been  astonished  at  the  great  deal  of  work  this  book 
has  involved — and  also  how  much  I  have  needed  the  assistance 
of  my  friends.  There  were  some  sixty  or  seventy  quotations 
in  respect  to  which  I  had  neglected  to  give  any  reference  to  the 
authors  (for  the  same  reason  as  one  did  not  put  the  names  on 
photographs  of  old  friends — it  seemed  impossible  that  the  names 
could  be  forgotten).  The  difficulty  of  finding  even  one  such 
quotation  is  enormous,  and  we  havenoBritishMuseuminAdelaide, 
but  only  some  limited  public  libraries.  However,  with  the  help 
of  my  friends  I  have  succeeded  in  tracing  the  paternity  of  most 
of  these  "  orphans."  In  this  and  other  directions  I  have  had 
the  kind  assistance  of  many  gentlemen.  Of  these  first  and 

*  I  occasionally  thought  I  had  hit  on  something  new,  but  usually  discovered  that  1 
had  been  anticipated— and  then  deeply  sympathized  with  St.  Jerome's  old  tutor,  Donatus. 
It  will  be  remembered  that  Jerome,  in  his  commentary  on  "  There  is  no  new  thing  under 
the  sun,"  tells  us  that  Donatus  used  to  say,  Pereant  qui  ante  nos  nostra  dixerunt,  "  Con- 
found the  fellows  who  anticipated  us  !" 


PREFACE  xm 

foremost  conies  Mr.  G.  F.  Hassell,  the  publisher  of  the  Adelaide 
edition,  who,  in  his  devotion  to  literature  as  well  as  to  his  own 
art  of  printing,  is  a  worthy  representative  of  the  old  Renaissance 
printers.  He  has  given  me  every  assistance,  has  gone  through 
every  line,  and,  as  he  is  both  an  exceedingly  well-read  man  and 
also  of  a  younger  generation  than  myself,  I  have  left  it  to  him 
to  decide  what  should  be  omitted  and  what  retained  in  this  book 
Professor  Mitchell  has  also  been  so  kind  as  to  revise  and  make 
suggestions  concerning  a  number  of  notes  on  philosophic  and 
other  subjects.  Professor  Darnley  Naylor  has  been  uniformly 
good  in  revising  any  notes  of  a  classical  nature — though  he  takes 
no  responsibility  whatever  for  the  views  I  express.  Dr.  E. 
Harold  Davies  has  also  helped  me  with  two  notes  on  music, 
in  one  instance  correcting  a  serious  mistake  I  had  made.  Sir 
Langdon  Bonython,  my  friend  of  many  years,  has  assisted 
me  with  practical  as  well  as  literary  suggestions,  and  has  thrown 
open  his  library  to  me.  Mr.  Francis  Edwards,  of  High  Street, 
Marylebone,  has  assisted  in  my  search  for  references  to  quotations. 
Mr.  H.  Rutherford  Purnell,  Public  Librarian  of  Adelaide,  and  his 
staff  have  helped  me  throughout,  and  Mr.  E.  La  Touche  Arm- 
strong, Public  Librarian  of  Melbourne,  has  gone  to  great  trouble 
on  my  account.  Miss  M.  R.  Walker  has  assisted  me  in  various 
ways,  and  especially  in  preparing  the  very  difficult  Index  of 
Subjects.  Mr.  Sydney  Temple  Thomas  has  lent  me  a  number 
of  important  books  I  specially  required.  Others  who  have 
helped  me  in  one  way  or  another  are  two  English  friends,  Mrs. 
Caroline  Sidgwick  and  Mrs.  Rachael  Bray,  Messrs.  J.  R.  Fowler, 
H.  W.  Uffindell,  S.  Talbot  Smith  and  Dr.  J.  W.  Browne,  of 
Adelaide,  Professor  Dettmann  of  New  Zealand,  Professor  Hyslop 
of  New  York  and  Mr.  F.  C.  Covers  of  the  State  War  Council, 
Sydney. 

For  permission  to  include  quotations  from  their  works  I  thank 
the  following  authors  :  Rev.  F.  W.  Boreham,  Mr.  F.  W.  Bour- 
dillon,  Mr.  A.  J.  Edmunds,  Mr.  Edmund  Gosse,  Mr.  Thomas 
Hardy,  O.M.,  Professor  Hob  house,  Mr.  Rudyard  Kipling,  Mr. 
E-  F"  Knight,  Mr.  R.  Le  Gallienne,  Mr.  W.  S.  Lilly,  Mr.  Robert 
Loveman,  Sir  Frederick  Pollock,  Sir  Arthur  Quiller-Couch, 
Professor  A.  H.  Sayce,  Mrs.  Cronwright  Schreiner,  Mr.  J.  C. 
Squire,  Mr.  Herbert  Trench,  Mr.  Samuel  Waddington,  Mrs. 
Humphry  Ward,  Mr.  F.  A.  Westbury,  Mr.  F.  S.  Williamson  and 
Sir  Francis  Younghusband. 

For  extracts  from  the  writings  of  their  relatives  I  am  grateful 
to  Lady  Arnold,  Sir  Francis  Darwin,  Mr.  Henry  James,  The 
Earl  of  Lytton,  Dr.  Greville  McDonald,  Miss  Martineau,  Miss 
Massey,  Mr.  W.  M.  Meredith,  Mrs.  F.  W.  H.  Myers,  the  Rev. 
Conrad  Noel,  Mr.  William  M.  Rossetti,  Sir  Herbert  Stephen  and 
Lord  Tennyson.  Mr.  Piddington  has  also  given  much  assistance. 


xiv  PREFACE 

I  am  indebted  to  the  following  for  quotations  from  the  works 
of  the  authors  named  :  of  Ruskin  to  the  Ruskin  Literary  Trustees 
and  their  publishers,  Messrs.  George  Allen  and  Unwin  ;  of  Brunton 
Stephens  to  Messrs.  Angus  and  Robertson  ;  of  C.  S.  Calverley 
to  Messrs.  G.  Bell  and  vSons  ;  of  George  Eliot  to  Messrs.  William 
Blackwood  &  Sons  ;  of  James  Kenneth  Stephen  to  Messrs.  Bowes 
and  Bowes  ;  of  Francis  Thompson  to  Messrs.  Burns  and  Gates  ; 
of  R.  L.  Stevenson  to  Messrs.  Chatto  and  Windus  and  to  Messrs. 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons ;  of  Robert  Buchanan  to  Messrs.  Chatto 
and  Windus  and  to  Mr.  W.  E.  Martyn ;  of  James  Thomson 
(B.V.)  to  Messrs.  P.  J.  and  A.  E.  Dobell ;  of  D.  G.  Rossetti 
to  Messrs.  Ellis  ;  of  Swinburne  to  Mr.  W.  Heinemann  ;  of  Mr 
Le  Gallienne,  H.  D.  Lowry,  Stephen  Phillips  and  J.  B.  Tabb 
to  Mr.  John  Lane  ;  of  R.  Loveman  to  the  J.  B.  Lippincott  Co.; 
of  A.  K.  H.  Boyd,  R.  Jefferies,  W.  E.  H.  Lecky  and  the  Rev. 
James  Martineau,  to  Messrs.  Longmans  Green  &  Co.  ;  of  Alfred 
Austin,  T.  E.  Brown,  Lewis  Carroll,  Edward  Fitzgerald,  F.  W.  H. 
Myers,  Walter  Pater,  I/3rd  Tennyson  and  Charles  Tennyson 
Turner  to  Messrs.  Macmillan  &  Co.  ;  of  V.  O'Sullivan  to  Mr. 
Elkin  Matthews ;  of  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Waterhouse  to  Messrs. 
Methuen  &  Co.  ;  of  Robert  Browning  to  Mr.  John  Murray ;  of 
Dr.  Moncure  Conway  and  Sir  Alfred  Lyall  to  Messrs.  Paul  (Kegan) , 
Trench  Trubner  &  Co.  ;  of  George  Gissing  to  Mr.  James  B. 
Pinker  ;  of  John  Payne  to  Mr.  O.  M.  Pritchard,  his  executor, 
and  to  Mr.  Thomas  Wright ;  of  Sir  Edwin  Arnold,  P.  J.  Bailey 
(Festus)  and  Coventry  Patmore  to  Messrs.  George  Routledge  & 
Sons  ;  of  G.  Wliyte  Melville  to  Messrs.  Ward  Lock  &  Co.  (songs 
and  verses)  ;  of  George  MacDonald  to  Messrs.  A.  P.  Watt  &  Son ; 
Mr.  Rudyard  Kipling's  "  L'Envoi  "  is  reprinted  from  Depart- 
mental Ditties,  by  kind  permission  of  the  author  and  Messrs. 
Methuen  &  Co. ;  "  To  the  True  Romance  "  is  published  by  Messrs. 
Macmillan  &  Co.,  to  whom  I  am  deeply  indebted,  not  only  for 
this  and  the  permissions  mentioned  above,  but  also  for  much 
assistance  in  tracing  copyrights.  Messrs.  Longmans,  Green  & 
Co..  Mr.  John  Murray  and  Messrs.  A.  P.  Watt  &  Son  have  been 
most  helpful  in  this  direction,  as  have  also  been  Messrs.  T.  B. 
Lippincott,  the  Oxford  University  Press  and  Messrs.  Watts  &  Co. 
Messrs.  Constable  &  Co.  have  generously  granted  permission  for 
the  quotations  from  George  Meredith  and,  as  the  representatives 
in  London  of  the  Houghton  Mifflin  Co.  of  Boston,  Mass.,  have 
secured  the  quotations  from  the  works  of  American  authors 
published  by  that  Firm,  viz.,  T.  B.  Aldrich,  R.  W.  Gilder.  W.  V. 
Moody,  S.  M.  B.  Piatt,  E.  M.  Thomas,  C.  D.  Warner  and  the  Classics 
of  Emerson,  Longfellow,  Lowell  and  WWttier.  Messrs.  G.  P. 
Putnam's  Sons  have  also  given  much  help  ;  the  lines  from  Anna 
Reeve  Aldrich  and  R.  C.  Rogers  are  published  by  their  New  York 
House.  Mr.  Martin  Seeker  joins  in  the  consent  given  by  Mr 
Squire  for  the  extract  from  his  poems.  I  thank  the  Editor 


PREFACE  xv 

of  the  Contemporary  Review  for  quotations  from  the  writings 
of  Professor  A.  Bain  and  the  Rev.  R.  F.  Littledale  ;  and  the 
Editor  of  the  Nineteenth  Century  for  some  lines  by  W.  M. 
Hardinge  (Greek  Anthology)  and  an  article  on  Multiplex 
Personality.  I  thank  also  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research 
for  an  obituary  article  by  F.  W.  H.  Myers  on  Gladstone,  printed 
in  the  Journal  of  that  Society. 

For  any  unintentional  omissions,  oversights,  or  failures  to  trace 
rights  I  beg  to  tender  my  apologies.  The  distance  of  Adelaide 
from  the  centre  of  publication  may,  in  some  measure,  serve  as 
an  excuse  for  such  shortcomings. 

All  profits  derived  from  the  sale  of  this  book  will  be  paid  to  the 
Red  Cross  Fund. 

J.  T.  HACKETT. 
Adelaide. 


PREFACE 

TO    THE 

SECOND     ENGLISH     EDITION. 

IN  preparing  this  edition  I  have  made  a  great  number  of  more 
or  less  important  corrections,  alterations  and  additions.  Most  of 
these  occupy  only  a  few  lines  apiece  and,  although  none  call  for 
special  mention,  they  should  together  add  to  the  interest  and 
usefulness  of  this  book.  For  a  number  of  them  I  am  indebted  to 
Mr.  Vernon  Kendall,  formerly  editor  of  the  Athenaum  and  Notes 
and  Queries.  With  his  wonderfully  wide  and  exact  knowledge  of 
English  and  classical  literature,  he  gave  me  much  assistance  and 
I  am  grateful  to  him. 

The  issue  of  a  Second  Edition  enables  me  to  thank  my  friend, 
Sir  John  Cockburn,  for  his  truly  remarkable  kindness  to  me. 
When  I  sent  this  book  home  from  Adelaide  to  be  published,  he 
undertook  the  heavy  work  of  seeking  the  consent  of  the  numer- 
ous copyright  owners,  negotiating  with  publishers,  and  seeing 
the  book  through  the  press.  Only  those  who  are  experienced  in 
such  matters  can  realize  the  enormous  amount  of  time  and  labour 
that  all  this  involved.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  express 
adequately  my  obligations  to  my  friend.  He  did  not  include  any 
reference  to  himself  in  the  original  Preface,  in  spite  of  my 
insistence  by  letter  and  cable. 

In  associating  his  name  with  this  book,  I  am  bound  to  add 
that  Sir  John  disagrees  with  and,  therefore,  disapproves  of  much 
that  I  have  said  in  some  notes  on  the  Ancient  Greeks. 

London,  J .  T.  HACKETT. 

September.   1920. 


PREFACE 

TO  THE 
THIRD     ENGLISH    EDITION. 


THIS  has  presumably  to  be  called  a  new  edition,  rather  than  a 
new  issue,  seeing  that  there  are  revisions  and  alterations.  But 
these  are  not  numerous,  and  the  only  ones  to  which  I  need  call 
special  attention  are  the  substituted  verses  on  pp.  153-5 

I  am  indebted  to  Mr.  Denys  Bray  for  permission  to  include 
his  daughter's  verses. 

J.  T,  HACKKTT. 
Mentone, 

December,  1920. 


YOUTH   AND    AGE 

VERSE,  a  breeze  'mid  blossoms  straying, 
Where  Hope  clung  feeding,  like  a  bee — 

Both  were  mine  !  Life  went  a-maying 
With  Nature,  Hope,  and  Poesy, 
When  I  ivas  young ! 


When  /  was  young? — Ah,  woful  When  ! 
Ah  !  for  the  change  'twixt  Now  and  Then  ! 
This  breathing  house  not  built  with  hands, 
This  body  that  does  me  grievous  wrong, 
O'er  aery  cliffs  and  glittering  sands 
How  lightly  then  it  flashed  along  : — 
Like  those  trim  skiffs,  unknown  of  yore, 
On  winding  lakes  and  rivers  wide, 
That  ask  no  aid  of  sail  or  oar, 
That  fear  no  spite  of  wind  or  tide  ! 
Nought  cared  this  body  for  wind  or  weather 
When  Youth  and  I  lived  in't  together. 

Flowers  are  lovely  :  Love  is  flower-like  , 
Friendship  is  a  sheltering  tree  ; 
0  I  the  joys,  that  came  down  shower-like, 
Of  Friendship,  Love,  and  Liberty, 
Ere  I  was  old ! 


YOUTH  AND  AGK 

Ere  /  was  old  ?  Ah,  woful  Ere, 
Which  tells  me,  Youth's  no  longer  here ! 

0  Youth !  for  years  so  many  and  sweei 
'Tis  known  that  Thou  and  I  were  one, 
I'll  think  it  but  a  fond  conceit — 

It  cannot  be,  that  thou  art  gone  ! 
Thy  vesper-bell  hath  not  yet  toll'd  : — 
And  thou  wert  aye  a  masker  bold  I 
What  strange  disguise  hast  now  put  on 
To  make  believe  that  Thou  art  gone  ? 

1  see  these  locks  in  silvery  slips, 
This  drooping  gait,  this  alter' d  size : 
But  Spring-tide  blossoms  on  thy  lips, 
And  tears  take  sunshine  from  thine  eyes ! 
Life  is  but  Thought :  so  think  I  will 
That  Youth  and  I  are  house-mates  still. 


Dew-drops  are  the  gems  of  morning, 
But  the  tears  of  mournful  eve  ! 
Where  no  hope  is,  life's  a  warning 
That  only  serves  to  make  us  grieve 

When  we  are  old : 

— That  only  serves  to  make  us  grieve 
With  oft  and  tedious  taking-leave, 
Like  some  poor  nigh-related  guest 
That  may  not  rudely  be  dismist, 
Yet  hath  outstay' d  his  welcome  while, 
And  tells  the  jest  without  the  smile. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 


My  Commonplace  Book 


OUR  God  and  soldier  we  alike  adore, 
When  at  the  brink  of  ruin,  not  before  ; 
After  deli v' ranee  both  alike  requited, 
Our  God  forgotten,  and  our  soldiers  slighted. 

FRANCIS   QUARLES    (1592-1644). 


IN  an  age  of  fops  and  toys, 
Wanting  wisdom,  void  of  right, 
Who  shall  nerve  heroic  boys 
To  hazard  all  in  Freedom's  fight  ? 


So  nigh  is  grandeur  to  our  dust, 
So  near  is  God  to  man, 
When  Duty  whispers  low,  Thou  must, 
The  youth  replies,  I  can. 

R.  W.  EMERSON 

(Voluntaries}. 


ENGLAND 

WHEN  I  have  borne  in  memory  what  has  tamed 
Great  Nations,  how  ennobling  thoughts  depart 
When  men  change  swords  for  ledgers,  and  desert 
The  student's  bower  for  gold,  some  fears  unnamed 
I  had,  my  Country — am  I  to  be  blamed  ? 
Now,  when  I  think  of  thee,  and  what  thou  art, 
Verily,  in  the  bottom  of  my  heart, 
Of  those  unfilial  fears  I  am  ashamed. 

(0 


WORDSWORTH— LOWELL 

For  dearly  must  we  prize  thee  ;  we  who  find 
In  thee  a  bulwark  for  the  cause  of  men  ; 
And  I  by  my  affection  was  beguiled  : 
What  wonder  if  a  Poet  now  and  then, 
Among  the  many  movements  of  his  mind, 
Felt  for  thee  as  a  lover  or  a  child  ! 

WORDSWORTH  (1803). 


CARELESS  seems  the  great  Avenger  ;   history's  pages 

but  record 
One  death  struggle  in  the  darkness  'twixt  old  systems 

and  the  Word  ; 
Truth  forever  on  the  scaffold,   Wrong  forever  on  the 

throne, — 
Yet  that  scaffold  sways  the  future,  and,  behind  the  dim 

unknown, 
Standeth  God  within  the  shadow,  keeping  watch  above 

His  own. 

J .  R.  LOWEM, 
(The  Present  Crisis) . 


MANY  loved  Truth,  and  lavished  life's  best  oil 

Amid  the  dust  of  books  to  find  her, 
Content  at  last,  for  guerdon  of  their  toil, 

With  the  cast  mantle  she  hath  left  behind  her. 
Many  in  sad  faith  sought  for  her, 
Many  with  crossed  hands  sighed  for  her  ; 
But  these,  our  brothers,  fought  for  her, 
At  life's  dear  peril  wrought  for  her, 
So  loved  her  that  they  died  for  her.  .  . 
They  saw  her  plumed  and  mailed, 
With  sweet,  stern  face  unveiled, 
And  all-repaying  eyes,  look  proud  on  them  in  death. 

J.   R.  LOWEI.I, 
(Ode  at  Harvard  Commemoration,  1865). 

This  Ode  was  written  in  memory  of  the  Harvard  University  men 
who  had  died  in  the  Secession  war.  Our  own  brave  men  are  also  fightir.;- 
in  the  cause  of  Truth,  against  the  hideous  falsity  of  German  teaching  ann 
morals. 


WHITTIER— BUCHANAN 

THE  future's  gain 

Is  certain  as  God's  truth  ;  but,  meanwhile,  pain 
Is  bitter,  and  tears  are  salt :  our  voices  take 
A  sober  tone  ;  our  very  household  songs 
Are  heavy  with  a  nation's  griefs  and  wrongs  ; 
And  innocent  mirth  is  chastened  for  the  sake 
Of  the  brave  hearts  that  nevermore  shall  beat. 
The  eyes  that  smile  no  more,  the  uureturning  feet ! 

J.  G.  WHITTIER 
(In  War  Time). 


PRIEST 

"  THE  glory  of  Man  is  his  strength, 

And  the  weak  man  must  die,"  said  the  Lord. 

CHORUS 
Hark  to  the  Song  of  the  Sword ! 

PRIEST 

Uplift !  let  it  gleam  in  the  sun — 
Uplift  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  ! 

KAISER 

Lo  !  how  it  gleams  in  the  light, 
Beautiful,  bloody,  and  bright. 
Yea,  I  uplift  the  Sword 
Thus  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  ! 

THE  CHIEFS 

Form  ye  a  circle  of  fire 
Around  him,  our  King  and  our  Sire — 
While  in  the  centre  he  stands, 
Kneel  with  your  swords  in  your  hands, 
Then  with  one  voice  deep  and  free 
Echo  like  waves  of  the  sea — 
"  In  the  name  of  the  Lord  !  " 

VOICES  WITHOUT 

Where  is  he  ? — he  fades  from  our  sight ! 
Where  the  Sword  ? — all  is  blacker  than  night. 
Is  it  finish'd,  that  loudly  ye  cry  ? 
Doth  he  sheathe  the  great  Sword  while  we  die  ? 
O  bury  us  deep,  most  deep ; 
Write  o'er  us,  wherever  we  sleep, 
"  In  the  name  of  the  Lord  !  " 


BUCHANAN— MORRIvS 


While  1  uplift  the  Sword, 
Thus  in  the  name  of  the  Lord, 
Why,  with  mine  eyes  full  of  tears, 
Am  I  sick  of  the  song  in  mine  ears  ? 
God  of  the  Israelite,  hear ; 
God  of  the  Teuton,  be  near  ; 
Strengthen  my  pulse  lest  I  fail. 
Shut  out  these  slain  while  they  wail — 
For  they  come  with  the  voice  of  the  grave 
On  the  glory  they  give  me  and  gave. 


CHORUS 

In  the  name  of  the  Lord  ?     Of  what  Lord  ? 
Where  is  He,  this  God  of  the  Sword  ? 
Unfold  Him  ;  where  hath  He  His  throne  ? 
Is  He  Lord  of  the  Teuton  alone  ? 
Doth  He  walk  on  the  earth  ?     Doth  He  tread 
On  the  limbs  of  the  dying  and  dead  ? 
Unfold  Him  !  We  sicken,  and  long 
To  look  on  this  God  of  the  strong  ! 

PRIEST 

Hush  !     In  the  name  of  the  Lord, 
Kneel  ye,  and  bless  ye  the  Sword  ! 

R.  BUCHANAN. 
(The  Apotheosis  of  the  Sword, 
Versailles,  1871) 


SHORT  is  mine  errand  to  tell,  and  the  end  of  my  desire  : 

For  peace  I  bear  unto  thee,  and  to  all  the  kings  of  the  earth, 

Who  bear  the  sword  aright,  and  are  crowned  with  the  crown 

of  worth ; 

But  unpeace  to  the  lords  of  evil,  and  the  battle  and  the  death  ; 
And  the  edge  of  the  sword  to  the  traitor  and  the  flame  to  the 

slanderous  breath  : 
And  I  would  that  the  loving  were  loved,  and  I  would  that  the 

weary  should  sleep, 
And  that  man  should  hearken  to  man,  and  that  he  that  soweth 

should  reap. 

W.  MORRIS 
(Sigurd  the   Volsung,  Book  III). 


EMERSON— THUCYD1DES 

SACRIFICE 

THOUGH  love  repine,  and  reason  chafe, 
There  came  a  voice  without  reply, — 
"  'Tis  man's  perdition  to  be  safe, 
When  for  the  truth  he  ought  to  die." 

R.  W.  EMERSON. 


GREEKS  OR  GERMANS  ? 

DO  not  imagine  that  you  are  fighting  about  a  single  issue,  freedom 
or  slavery.  You  have  an  empire  to  lose,  and  are  exposed  to  danger 
by  reason  of  the  hatred  which  your  imperial  rule  has  inspired 
in  other  states.  And  you  cannot  resign  your  power,  although 
some  timid  or  unambitious  spirits  want  you  to  act  justly.  For 
now  your  empire  has  become  a  despotism,  a  thing  which  in  the 
opinion  of  mankind  has  been  unjustly  acquired  yet  cannot  be 
safely  relinquished.  The  men  of  whom  I  speak,  if  they  could 
find  followers,  would  soon  ruin  the  state,  and,  if  they  were  to 
found  a  state  of  their  own,  would  just  as  soon  ruin  that. 

(Speech  by  Pericles.) 


I  have  observed  again  and  again  that  a  democracy  cannot 
govern  an  empire  ;  and  never  more  clearly  than  now,  when  I  see 
you  regretting  the  sentence  you  pronounced  on  the  Mityleneans. 
Having  no  fear  or  suspicion  of  one  another,  you  deal  with  your 
allies  on  the  same  principle.  You  do  not  realize  that,  whenever 
you  yield  to  them  out  of  pity,  or  are  prevailed  on  by  their  pleas, 
you  are  guilty  of  a  weakness  dangerous  to  yourselves  and  receive 
no  gratitude  from  them.  You  need  to  bear  in  mind  that  your 
empire  is  a  despotism  exercised  over  unwilling  subjects  who  are 
ever  conspiring  against  you.  They  do  not  obey  because  of  any 
kindness  you  show  them  :  they  obey  just  so  far  as  you  show  your- 
selves their  masters.  They  have  no  love  for  you,  but  are  held 
down  by  force 

You  must  not  be  misled  by  pity,  or  eloquent  pleading  or  by 
generosity.  There  are  no  three  things  more  fatal  to  empire. 

(Speech  by  Cleon.) 
THUCYDIDES,  n,  63  ;  in,  37,  40. 

It  will  be  seen  that  these  odious  sentiments  are  attributed  by  the 
impartial  Thucydides  to  his  hero  Pericles  as  well  as  to  the  demagogue  Cleon. 
The  Greeks  were  fervent  supporters  of  Democracy  and  Equality,  but  not 
when  it  came  to  dealing  either  with  foreign  states  or  with  their  own  women 
or  slaves.  (See  also  Socrates  and  Aristotle,  p.  367.) 


6  PAINK 

TH  ESE  are  the  times  that  try  men's  souls .  The  summer  soldier 
and  the  sunshine  patriot  will,  in  this  crisis,  shrink  from  the  service 
of  their  country  ;  but  he,  that  stands  it  now,  deserves  the  love 
and  thanks  of  man  and  woman.  Tyranny,  like  hell,  is  not  easily- 
conquered  ;  yet  we  have  this  consolation  with  us,  that  the  harder 
the  conflict,  the  more  glorious  the  triumph.  What  we  obtain 
too  cheap,  we  esteem  too  lightly  :  it  is  dearness  only  that  gives 
any  thins;  its  value.  Heaven  knows  how  to  put  a  proper  price 
upon  its  goods  ;  and  it  would  be  strange  indeed  if  so  celestial 
an  article  as  FREEDOM  should  not  be  highly  rated. 

THOMAS  PAINE  (1776). 


Outside  the  Bible  and  other  books  of  religion,  I  think  it  would  be  difficult 
to  find  any  single  passage  in  the  world's  literature  that  produced  so  wonder- 
ful a  result  as  the  above  passage  of  Tom  Paine's.  It  was  the  opening 
paragraph  of  the  first  number  of  The  Crisis,  and  was  written  by  miserable, 
flaring  candle-light,  when  Paine  was  a  private  in  Washington's  ill-clad, 
worn-out  army  at  Trenton.  The  soldiers,  who  were  then  despairing  from 
hardship  and  defeat,  were  roused  by  these  words  to  such  enthusiasm  that 
next  day  they  rushed  bravely  in  and  won  the  first  American  victory,  which 
turned  the  tide  of  the  war  of  independence. 

Previously  to  this,  it  was  through  Paine's  pamphlet,  Common  Sense, 
that  the  Americans  first  saw  that  separation  was  the  only  remedy  for  their 
grievances.  Conway  tells  an  amusing  story  about  Common  Sense  and  The 
Rights  of  Man.  When  the  Bolton  town  cner  was  sent  round  to  seize  these 
prohibited  books,  he  reported  that  he  could  not  find  any  Rights  of  Man 
or  Common  Sense  anywhere ! 

For  trying  to  save  the  life  of  Louis  XVI  during  the  revolution,  Paine 
was  thrown  into  the  Bastille,  and  only  escaped  death  by  a  curious  accident. 
It  was  customary  for  chalk-marks  to  be  made  on  the  cell-doors  of  those 
to  be  guillotined  the  following  morning,  and  these  doors  opened  outwards. 
When  Paine's  door  was  marked,  it  happened  to  be  open,  and  the  mark 
was  made  on  the  inside,  so  that,  when  the  door  was  shut,  the  mark  was  not 
visible.  If  Paine  had  not  been  a  sceptic,  this  would  have  been  described 
in  those  days  as  a  wonderful  interposition  of  Providence ! 

Conway  lays  a  terrible  indictment  against  Washington.  When  Paine, 
whose  services  to  America,  and  to  Washington  himself,  had  been  so  magni- 
ficent, was  thrown  into  the  Bastille,  Washington  could  have  saved  him  by 
a  word— but  remained  silent !  This  was  no  doubt  the  reason  why  Paine, 
after  his  liberation,  was  led  to  make  an  unjust  attack  on  Washington's 
military  and  Presidential  work.  It  was  due  to  this  attack  on  Washington 
and  the  bigotry  of  the  time  against  the  author  of  The  Age  of  Reason,  that 
Paine  fell  utterly  into  disrepute. 

:  When  the  Centenary  of  American  independence  was  celebrated  by  an 
Exhibition  at  Philadelphia,  a  bust  of  Paine  was  offered  to  the  city  by  his 
admirers,  but  was  promptly  declined  !  And  yet  Conway  says  that  on  the 
day,  whose  centenary  was  then  being  celebrated,  Paine  was  idolized  in 
America  above  all  other  men,  Washington  included. 


KIPLING 


Paine  by  Moncure 
fact  mentioned 


The  foregoing  notes  were  made  on  reading  an  article  on  Pai 
D.  Conway  in  The  Fortnightly,  March,  1879.      *  think  the  1 
in  the  last  paragraph  and  the  town-crier  story  do  not  appear  in  Conway's 
subsequent  Life  of  Paine. 

Even  at  the  present  day  bigotry  seems  to  prevent  any  proper  recog- 
nition of  Paine's  fine  character  and  important  work.  (The  unpleasant 
flippancy*  with  which  he  dealt  with  serious  religious  questions  is  no  doubt 
partly  the  cause  of  this.)  I  find  very  inadequate  appreciation  of  him  in 
The  Americana  and  The  Biographical  Dictionary  of  America — and  also  in 
our  own  Dictionary  of  National  Biography.  The  general  impression  among 
the  public  still  probably  is  that  Paine  was  an  atheist ;  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
he  was  a  Theist,  and  his  will  ends  with  the  words, "  I  die  in  perfect  composure 
and  resignation  to  the  will  of  my  Creator,  God." 

Carlyle's  reference  to  Paine  is  amusing  :  "  Nor  is  our  England  without 
her  missionaries.  She  has  her  Paine  :  rebellious  staymaker ;  unkempt ; 
who  feels  that  he,  a  single  needleman,  did,  by  his  Common-Sense  Pamphlet, 
free  America — that  he  can  and  will  free  all  this  World ;  perhaps  even  the 
other."  (French  Revolution.) 


BUY  my  English  posies  ! 

You  that  will  not  turn- 
Buy  my  hot-wood  clematis, 

Buy  a  frond  o'  fern 
Gather 'd  where  the  Erskine  leaps 

Down  the  road  to  Lome — 
Buy    my    Christmas    creeper 

And  I'll  say  where  you  were  born  ! 
West  away  from  Melbourne  dust  holidays  begin — 
They  that  mock  at  Paradise  woo  at  Cora  Lynn— 
Through  the  great  South  Otway  gums  sings  the  great  South 

Main — 
Take  the  flower  and  turn  the  hour,  and  kiss  your  love  again  !   . 

Buy  my  English  posies  ! 

Ye  that  have  your  own 
Buy  them  for  a  brother's  sake 

Overseas,  alone. 
Weed  ye  trample  underfoot 

Floods  his  heart  abrim — 
Bird  ye  never  heeded. 

O,   she  calls  his  dead  to  him  ! 

*  The  flippancy  is  at  times  amusing,  as  when  he  says  :  "  The  account  of  the  whale 
swallowing  Jonah,  though  the  whale  may  have  been  large  enough  to  do  so.  borders  greatly 
on  the  marvellous  ;  but  it  would  have  approached  nearer  to  the  just  idea  of  a  miracle 
if  Jonah  had  swallowed  the  whale." 


8  KIPLING— HARDINGE 

t£, 

Far  and  far  our  homes  are  set  round  the  Seven  Seas  ; 
Woe  for  us  if  we  forget,  we  that  hold  by  these ! 
Unto  each  his  mother-beach,  bloom  and  bird  and  land — 
Masters  of  the  Seven  Seas,  O,  love  and  understand  ! 

RUDYARD  KlPIJNG 

(The  Flowers). 


Of  the  verses  in  this  fine  poem  which  speak  for  the  various  British 
Dominions  I  take  only  the  one  that  represents  my  own  country.  At  the 
time  Kipling  wrote,  the  inhabitants  of  our  beloved  mother-country  did  not 
seem  to  fully  realize  that  we  were  their  kindred — that  our  fern  and  clematis 
made  English  posies — but  no  doubt  their  feeling  has  altered  since  we 
have  fought  side  by  side  in  mutual  defence.  However,  to  us  England  was 
always  "  home,"  and  when  Kipling  wrote  this  poem  he  entered  straight 
into  our  hearts. 


FROM  THE  GREEK  ANTHOLOGY 


RUFINUS 

HERE  lilies,  here  the  rosebud,  and  here  too 
The  windflower  with  her  petals  drenched  in  dew, 
And  daffodillies  cool,  and  violets  blue. 


It's  oh  !  to  be  a  wild  wind — when  my  lady's  in  the  sun — 

She'd  just  unbind  her  neckerchief  and  take  me  breathing  in, 

It's  oh  !  to  be  a  red  rose — just  a  faintly  blushing  one — 

So  she'd  pull  me  with  her  hand  and  to  her  snowy  breast  I'd 


PLATO  TO  ASTER 

Thou  gazest  on  the  stars — a  star  to  me 

Thou*  art— but  oh  !  that  I  the  heavens  might  be 

And  with  a  thousand  eyes  still  gaze  on  thee  ! 

*  Altered  from  "  That,"   which   may   be   a   misprint.     "  Thou  "   gives    the  same 
meaning  and  runs  more  smoothly. 


HARDINGE 

PALI.ADAS 

Breathing  the  thin  breath  through  our  nostrils,  we 
Live,  and  a  little  space  the  sunlight  see — 
Even  all  that  live — each  being  an  instrument 
To  which  the  generous  air  its  life  has  lent. 
If  with  the  hand  one  quench  our  draught  of  breath, 
He  sends  the  stark  soul  shuddering  down  to  death. 
We,  that  are  nothing  on  our  pride  are  fed. 
Seeing,  but  for  a  little  air,  we  are  as  dead. 


Is  there  no  help  from  life  save  only  death  ? 
"  Life  that  such  myriad  sorrows  harboureth 
I  dare  not  break,  I  cannot  bear" — one  saith. 

"  Sweet  are  stars,  sun,  and  moon,  and  sea,  and  earth, 
For  service  and  for  beauty  these  had  birth, 
But  all  the  rest  of  life  is  little  worth — 

"  Yea,  all  the  rest  is  pain  and  grief  "  saith  he 
"  For  if  it  hap  some  good  thing  come  to  me 
An  evil  end  befalls  it  speedily  !  "* 

PHUODEMUS 

I  loved — and  you.     I  played — who  hath  not  been 
Steeped  in  such  play  ?     If  I  was  mad,  I  ween 
'Twas  for  a  god  and  for  no  earthly  queen. 

Hence  with  it  all !     Then  dark  my  youthful  head, 
Where  now  scant  locks  of  whitening  hair  instead, 
Reminders  of  a  grave  old  age,  are  shed. 

I  gathered  roses  while  the  roses  blew, 
Playtime  is  past,  my  play  is  ended  too. 
Awake,  my  heart !  and  worthier  aims  pursue. 

W.  M.  HARDINGE 
(Nineteenth  Century,  Nov.  1878). 

My  notes  tell  me  nothing  of  Hardinge,  except  that  he  was  the  "  Leslie  " 
in  Mallock's  New  Republic.  Another  version  of  Plato's  beautiful  epigram 
(which  was  addressed  to  "Aster,"  or  "  Star  ")  is  the  following  by  Professor 
Darnley  Naylor : 

Thou  gazest  on  the  stars,  my  Star; 

Oh  !   might  I   be 
The  starry  sky  with  myriad  eyes 
To  ga/.e  on  thee  ! 

*  Compare  "  I  never  nursed  a  dear  gazelle  "  (p.  18 1) 


io  SHELLEY— NAYLOR 

The  Greek  Anthology  is  a  collection  of  about  4,500  short  poems  by 
about  300  Greek  writers,  extending  over  a  period  of  one  thousand  seven 
hundred  years,  from,  say,  700  B.C.  to  1000  A.D.  At  first  these  poems  were 
epigrams — using  the  word  "  epigram  "  in  its  original  sense,  as  a  verse 
intended  to  be  inscribed  on  a  tomb  or  tablet  in  memory  of  some  dead 
person  or  important  event.  Later  they  included  poems  on  any  subject, 
so  long  as  they  contained  one  fine  thought  couched  in  concise  language. 
Still  later  any  short  lyric  was  included. 

This  wonderful  collection  forms  a  great  treasure-house  of  poetry, 
which  gives  much  insight  into  the  Greek  life  of  the  time,  and  it  also  largely 
influenced  English  and  European  literature.  For  instance,  the  first  verse 
of  Ben  Jonson's  "  Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes,"  is  taken  direct  from  the 
Anthology  (Agathias,  Arab.  Pal.,  V.,  261).  I  may  add  that  the  second 
verse,  in  which  the  poet  sends  the  wreath,  not  as  a  compliment  to  the  lady 
but  as  a  kindness  to  the  roses  which  could  not  wither  if  worn  by  her,  is 
also  borrowed  from  a  Greek  source.  (Philostratus,  Episiolai  Erotikai.} 

Numberless  English  and  European  scholars  have  attempted  the  diffi- 
cult task  of  translating  or  paraphrasing  these  little  poetic  gems  into  corre- 
spondingly poetic  and  concise  language,  but  the  beauty  of  the  original 
can  never  be  fully  retained. 


PLATO  TO  STELLA 

THOU  wert  the  morning  star  among  the  living, 

Ere  thy  fair  light  had  fled  :— 
Now,  having  died,  thou  art  as  Hesperus,  giving 

New  splendour  to  the  dead. 

SHELBY'S  VERSION. 


PTOLEMY 

I  KNOW  that  we  are  mortal,  the  children  of  a  day  ; 
But  when  I  scan  the  circling  spires,  the  serried  stars'  array, 
I  tread  the  earth  no  longer  and  soar  where  none  hath  trod, 
To  feast  in  Heaven's  banquet-hall  and  drink  the  wine  of  God. 
H.  DARNI,EY  NAYI,OR'S  VERSION. 

Although  there  cannot  be  absolute  certainty,  this  Ptolemy  is  no  doubt 
the  great  Greek  astronomer ;  and  the  epigram  would  date  fiom  about 
140  A.D. 


CORY— PASCAL  1 1 

HERACLEITUS. 

THEY  told  me,  Heracleitus,  they  told  me  you  were  dead, 
They  brought  me  bitter  news  to  hear  and  bitter  tears  to  shed. 
I  wept,  as  I  remembered,  how  often  you  and  I 
Had  tired  the  sun  with  talking  and  sent  him  down  the  sky. 

And  now  that  thou  art  lying,  my  dear  old  Carian  guest, 
A  handful  of  grey  ashes,  long,  long  ago  at  rest, 
Still  are  thy  pleasant  voices,  thy  nightingales,  awake  ; 
For  Death,  he  taketh  all  away,  but  them  he  cannot  take 

WUJJAM  (JOHNSON)  CORY  (1823-1892). 

This  is  a  paraphrase  of  verses  written  by  Callimachus  on  hearing  of 
the  death  of  his  friend,  the  poet  Heracleitus  (not  the  philosopher  of  that 
name). 

Francis  Thompson  (Sister  Songs)  hoped  that  his  "  nightingales " 
would  continue  to  sing  after  his  death,  just  as  light  would  come  from 
a  star  long  after  it  had  ceased  to  exist : 

Oh  !  may  this  treasure-galleon  of  my  verse, 

Fraught  with  its  golden  passion,  oared  with  cadent  rhyme, 

Set  with  a  towering  press  of  fantasies, 

Drop  safely  down  the  time, 

Leaving  mine  isled  self  behind  it  far 
Soon  to  be  sunk  in  the  abysm  of  seas, 
(As  down  the  years  the  splendour  voyages 

From  some  long  ruined  and  night-submerged  star). 


WHEN  I  consider  the  shortness  of  my  life,  lost  in  an  eternity 
before  and  behind,  "  passing  away  as  the  remembrance  of  a  guest 
who  tarrieth  but  a  day,"  the  little  space  I  fill  or  behold  in  the 
infinite  immensity  of  spaces,  of  which  I  know  nothing  and  which 
know  nothing  of  me — when  I  reflect  this,  I  am  filled  with  terror, 
and  wonder  why  I  am  here  and  not  there,  for  there  was  no  reason 
why  it  should  be  the  one  rather  than  the  other  ;  why  now  rather 
than  then.  Who  set  me  here  ?  By  whose  command  and  rule  were 
this  time  and  place  appointed  me  ?  How  many  kingdoms 
know  nothing  of  us  !  The  eternal  silence  of  those  infinite  spaces 
terrifies  me. 

PASCAL 

(Pen  sees). 


BROWNING  AND  OTHERS 

YE  weep  for  those  who  weep  ?  she  said, 
Ah,  fools  !  I  bid  you  pass  them  by. 

Go  weep  for  those  whose  hearts  have  bled 
What  time  their  eyes  were  dry. 

Whom  sadder  can  I  say  ?  she  said. 

E.  B.  BROWNING 

(The  Mask). 


See  also  Seneca   (Hipp.),    Curae  leves    loquuntur,    ingentes    stupent 
"  Light  sorrows  speak,  but  deeper  ones  are  dumb." 


STAR  unto  star  speaks  light. 

P.  J.  BAILEY 
(Festus,  Scene  i,  Heaven) 


O  LOVE,  my  love  !  if  I  no  more  should  see 
Thyself,  nor  on  the  earth  the  shadow  of  thee, 

Nor  image  of  thine  eyes  in  any  spring, — 
How  then  should  sound  upon  Life's  darkening  slope 
The  ground- whirl  of  the  perished  leaves  of  Hope, 

The  wind  of  Death's  imperishable  wing  ! 

D.  G.  ROSSETTI 

(Lovesight) 


OUR  deeds  are  like  children  that  are  born  to  us ;  they  live  and 
act  apart  from  our  own  will.  Nay,  children  may  be  strangled, 
but  deeds  never  :  they  have  an  indestructible  life  both  in  and  out 
of  our  consciousness. 

GEORGE  EWOT 
(Romola) . 


NOEL  —BROWNING  1 3 

ROOM  in  all  the  ages 

For  our  love  to  grow, 
Prayers  of  both  demanded 

A  little  while  ago  : 


And  now  a  few  poor  moments, 

Between  life  and  death, 
May  be  proven  all  too  ample 
For  love's  breath. 

RODEN  NOEI, 
(The  Pity  of  It). 


THERE  1  See  our  roof,  its  gilt  moulding  and  groining 
Under  those  spider-webs  lying  ! 

Is  it  your  moral  of  Life  ? 

Such  a  web,  simple  and  subtle, 
Weave  we  on  earth  here  in  impotent  strife, 

Backward  and  forward  each  throwing  his  shuttle, 
Death  ending  all  with  a  knife  ? 

Over  our  heads  truth  and  nature — 

Still  our  life's  zigzags  and  dodges. 
Ins  and  outs,  weaving  a  new  legislature — 

God's  gold  just  showing  its  last  where  that  lodges, 
Palled  beneath  man's  usurpature. 

So  we  o'ershroud  stars  and  roses, 

Cherub  and  trophy  and  garland  ; 
Nothings  grow  something  which  quietly  closes 

Heaven's  earnest  eye  ;  not  a  glimpse  of  the  far  land 
Gets  through  our  comments  and  glozes. 

R.  BROWNING 

(Master  Hugues  of  Saxe-Gotha) . 


Hugues  of  Saxe-Gotha  is  an  imaginary  name,  but  it  probably  indicates 
the  great  Sebastian  Bach,  who  came  from  that  part  of  Germany.  The 
"  masterpiece,  hard  number  twelve,"  referred  to  in  the  poem,  may  be 
(Dr.  E.  Harold  Davies  tells  me)  the  great  Organ  Fugue  in  F  Minor,  which  is 
in  "  five  part  "  counter-point. 


I4  BROWNING 

This  very  interesting  poem  is  written  in  a  half-humorous  fashion,  but 
its  intention  is  quite  serious.  In  a  wonderfully  imitative  manner,*  it 
describes  the  wrangling  and  disputing  in  a  five-voiced  fugue  (where  five  per- 
sons appear  to  be  taking  part)  : 

One  is  incisive,  corrosive  ; 

Two  retorts,  nettled,  curt,  crepitant ; 
Three  makes  rejoinder,  expansive,  explosive ; 

Four  overbears  them  all,  strident  and  strepitant : 
Five  .  .  .  .  O  Danaides,  O  Sieve! 

(For  killing  their  husbands  the  fifty  Danai'des  were  doomed  to  pour 
water  everlastingly  into  a  sieve.) 

"  Where  in  all  this  is  the  music  ?  "  asks  Browning.  And,  although 
he  is  writing  humorously,  yet,  however  rank  the  heresy,  he  finds  that  the 
fugue,  with  its  elaborate  counterpoint,  is  wanting  in  the  essentials  of  true 
art.  He  prefers  Palestrina's  simpler  and  more  emotional  mode  of  expres- 
sion : 

Hugues !  I  advise  meet  poend^ 

(Counterpoint  glares  like  a  Gorgon) 
Bid  One,  Two,  Three,  Four,  Five,  clear  the  arena  ! 
Say  the  word,  straight  I  unstop  the  full-organ, 
Blare  out  the  mode  Palestrina. 

In  the  poem,  where  occurs  the  passage  quoted,  one  can  vividly  follow 
the  poet's  thought.  Music  is  essentially  the  language  of  feeling,  of  emotion ; 
the  fugue  is  a  triumph  of  invention,  and,  therefore,  the  result  of  intellect 
Feeling  is  elemental,  simple,  and  unanalysable.  The  subtleties  of  pure 
harmony  are  the  expression  of  deepness  and  richness  of  feeling ;  the  intri- 
cacies of  the  fugue  are  artificially  constructed  and,  therefore,  unsuited 
to  the  expression  of  pure  emotion.  They  represent  intellect  as  against 
feeling.  And  essentially  in  the  moral  world,  but  also  in  our  general  out- 
look upon  truth  and  nature,  the  spiritual  perception  is  derived  from  simple 
human  emotion  rather  than  intellect ;  "  Thou  hast  hid  these  things  from 
the  wise  and  prudent,  and  hast  revealed  them  uuto  babes."  (The  whole 
of  Browning's  poetry  teaches  that  love,  not  intellect,  is  the  solution  of  all 
moral  problems,  and  the  goal  of  the  universe.) 

In  the  poem  the  organist  has  been  playing  on  the  organ  in  an  old  church  ; 
and  Browning  suddenly  sees  an  illustration  of  his  thought  in  the  fine  gilded 
ceiling  covered  by  thick  cobwebs.  The  cobwebs  that  obscure  the  gold 
of  the  ceiling  are  the  intellectual  wranglings  that  destroy  music  in  the  fugue 
— and  both  are  symbolical  of  what  occurs  in  our  lives.  Truth  and  Nature, 
"  God's  gold  " — the  pure,  simple  truths  of  the  higher  life — are  over  us, 
bright  and  clear  as  the  noon-day  sun.  But  by  doubts  and  disputations, 
warring  philosophies  and  contending  creeds,  by  strife  over  non-essentials, 
casuistries,  self-deceptions,  by  questions  of  dogma  (often  as  fine  as  any 
spider's  web),  by  endless  "  comments  and  glozes,"  we  lose  sight  of  the 
elemental  truths  and  clear  principles  that  should  guide  our  lives.  The  pure 
and  simple-hearted  reach  the  Mount  of  Vision  :  to  them  comes  the  clear 
sense  of  Love  and  Duty.  Those  of  us  who  turn  our  intellects  to  a  perverse 
use  and  exclude  the  spiritual  perception  of  the  soul  are  like  the  spiders 

*  See  Milton's  Imitation  of  a  fugue.    Par.  Lost  XI. 
t  "  I  take  the  risk,"  or  "  Mine  the  risk." 


MARTINEAU  15 

who  cover  up  "  stars  and  roses,  Cherub  and  trophy  and  garland."  We 
obscure  and  forget  all  noble  ideals,  abolish  God's  high  "  legislature,"  and 
follow  a  lawless  life  of  selfish  passion  and  sordid  ambitions.  The  Good  and 
Beautiful  and  True  have  been  obliterated  and  forgotten :  "  God's  gold  " 
is  tarnished,  His  harmonies  lost  in  discord ;  and  we  become  morally  dead. 

So,  in  its  lovely  moonlight,  lives  the  soul. 
Mountains  surround  it,  and  sweet  virgin  air  ; 
Cold  plashing  past  it,  crystal  waters  roll ; 
We  visit  it  by  moments,  ah,  too  rare !     .     .     . 

Still  doth  the  soul,  from  its  lone  fastness  high, 
Upon  our  life  a  ruling  effluence  send  ; 
And  when  it  fails,  fight  as  we  will,  we  die, 
And  while  it  lasts,  we  cannot  wholly  end. 

MATTHEW  ARNOLD  (Palladium). 


(REFERRING  to  the  Gorham  case)  The  future  historian  of 
opinion  will  write  of  us  in  this  strain  :  ' '  The  people  who  spoke  the 
language  of  Shakespeare  were  great  in  the  constructive  arts  :  the 
remains  of  their  vast  works  evince  an  extraordinary  power  of  com- 
bining and  economizing  labour  :  their  colonies  were  spread  over 
both  hemispheres,  and  their  industry  penetrated  to  the  remotest 
tribes  :  they  knew  how  to  subjugate  nature  and  to  govern  men  : 
but  the  weakness  of  their  thought  presented  a  strange  contrast 
to  the  vigour  of  their  arm  ;  and  though  they  were  an  earnest 
people,  their  conceptions  of  Imman  life  and  its  Divine  Author 
seems  to  have  been  of  the  most  puerile  nature.  Some  orations 
have  been  handed  down — apparently  delivered  before  one  of 
their  most  dignified  tribunals — in  which  the  question  is  discussed  : 
'  In  what  way  the  washing  of  new-born  babes  according  to  certain 
rules  prevented  God's  hating  them.'  The  curious  feature  is, 
that  the  discussion  turns  entirely  upon  the  manner  in  which  this 
wetting  operated  ;  and  no  doubt  seems  to  have  been  entertained 
by  disputants,  judges,  or  audience,  that,  without  it,  a  child  or 
other  person  dying  would  fall  into  the  hands  of  an  angry  Deity,  and 
be  kept  alive  for  ever  to  be  tortured  in  a  burning  cave.  Now, 
all  researches  into  the  contemporary  institutions  of  the  island 
show  that  its  religion  found  its  chief  support  among  the  classes 
possessing  no  mean  station  or  culture,  and  that  the  education 
for  the  priesthood  was  the  highest  which  the  country  afforded. 
This  strange  belief  must  be  taken,  therefore,  as  the  measure, 
not  of  popular  ignorance,  but  of  their  most  intellectual  faith. 
A  philosophy  and  worship  embodying  such  a  superstition  can 
present  nothing  to  reward  the  labour  of  research." 

JAMES  ]\IARTINEAU 

(Essay  on  "  The^Church  of  England  "). 


16  MORRIS 

In  the  Gorham  case,  which  went  on  appeal  to  the  Privy  Council,  it 
was  decided  that  Mr.  Gorham's  beliefs,  although  unusual,  were  not  repug- 
nant to  the  doctrines  of  the  Church  of  England.  His  views  were  that 
baptism  is  generally  necessary  to  salvation,  that  it  is  a  sign  of  grace  by  which 
God  works  in  us,  but  only  in  those  who  worthily  receive  it.  In  others  it 
is  not  effectual.  Infants  baptized  who  die  before  actual  sin  are  certainly 
saved,  but  regeneration  does  not  necessarily  follow  on  baptism. 

In  such  matters  one  question  stands  out  very  prominently.  The 
priest  is  consecrated  to  the  high  office  of  teaching  the  eternal  truths  of 
Christ — Love  and  Duty  and  Moral  Aspiration.  How  can  he  keep  those 
truths  in  due  perspective  when  his  intellect  is  engaged  in  warfare  over 
miserable  casuistries. 

And  as  the  strife  waxes  fiercer  among  the  priests  of  the  Most  High, 
they  call  in  the  aid  of  hired  mercenaries.  Think  of  the  lawyers  paid  by 
one  side  or  the  other  to  argue  questions  of  baptism  and  prevenient  grace  ! 
It  was  precisely  this  introduction  into  religion  of  legal  formalism  and  tech- 
nicality, the  arguing  from  texts  and  ancient  commentaries,  the  verbal 
quibbling  and  hair-splitting,  the  "  letter  "  that  "  killeth  "  as  against  the 
"  spirit  "  that  "  giveth  life,"  which  led  to  Christ's  bitter  invectives  against 
the  "  Scribes  "  or  lawyers  of  His  day. 

Seeley,  in  Ecce  Homo,  points  out  that  when  Christ  summoned  the 
disciples  to  him,  he  required  from  them  only  Faith,  and  not  belief  in  any 
specific  doctrines.  As  it  was  not  until  later  that  they  learnt  He  was  to 
suffer  death  and  rise  again,  they  could  at  first  have  held  no  belief  in  the 
Atonement  or  the  Resurrection.  "  Nor,"  says  Seeley,  "  do  we  find  Him 
frequently  examining  His  followers  in  their  creed,  and  rejecting  one  as 

a  sceptic  and  another  as  an  infidel Assuredly  those  who  represent 

Christ  as  presenting  to  man  an  abstruse  theolosy,  and  saying  to  them  peremp- 
torily '  Believe  or  be  damned,'  have  the  coarsest  conception  of  the  Saviour 
of  the  world." 

As  I  have  read  somewhere,  "  From  all  barren  Orthodoxy,  good  Lord, 
deliver  us."* 


FOR  while  a  youth  is  lost  in  soaring  thought, 
And  while  a  maid  grows  sweet  and  beautiful, 
And  while  a  spring-tide  coming  lights  the  earth, 
And  while  a  child,  and  while  a  flower  is  born, 
And  while  one  wrong  cries  for  redress  and  finds 
A  soul  to  answer,  still  the  world  is  young  ! 

LEWIS  MORRIS 
(Epic  of  Hades). 

*  The  above  is  a  concrete  illustration  of  Browning's  meaning  in  the  preceding  quota- 
tion, but  a  far  wider  illustration  is  seen  in  the  terrible  cruelties  inflicted  on  the  one  side 
by  the  Inquisition  and  on  the  other  by  the  Protestants.  This  was  again  due  to  the  intro- 
duction of  intelUctualism,  which  distorted  the  Religion  of  Love  into  a  Religion  of  Hate. 


GOETHE— QUILLER-COUCH  1 7 

POEMS  are  painted  window  panes. 

If  one  looks  from  the  square  into  the  church, 

Dusk  and  dimness  are  his  gains — 

Sir  Philistine  is  left  in  the  lurch  ! 

The  sight,  so  seen,  may  well  enrage  him, 

Nor  anything  henceforth  assuage  him. 

But  come  just  inside  what  conceals  ; 
Cross  the  holy  threshold  quite — 
All  at  once  'tis  rainbow-bright, 
Device  and  story  flash  to  light, 
A  gracious  splendour  truth  reveals. 
This  to  God's  children  is  full  measure, 
It  edifies  and  gives  you  pleasure  ! 

GOETHE. 


This  is  George  MacDonald's  translation  (but  never  can  a  translation 
of  poetry  reproduce  the  original).  MacDonald  says  of  the  poem  :  "  This 
is  true  concerning  every  form  in  which  truth  is  embodied,  whether 
it  be  sight  or  sound,  geometric  diagram  or  scientific  formula.  Unintelligible, 
it  may  be  dismal  enough  regarded  from  the  outside  ;  prismatic  in  its  reve- 
lation of  truth  from  within."  Among  the  arts  this  statement  is  most 
applicable  to  poetry,  and  hence  the  reason  why  notes  are  often  required 
to  assist  many  persons  to  "  come  inside,"  to  enter  into  the  heart  of  a  poem — 
t.o  reach  the  point  of  vision. 


DE  TEA  FABULA 

DO  I  sleep  ?     Do  I  dream  ? 

Am  I  hoaxed  by  a  scout  ? 

Are  things  what  they  seem, 

Or  is  Sophists  about  ? 

Is  our  rb  Tt  ?jv  ftva:  a  failure,  or  is  Robert  Brovaiing  played 
out  ? 

Which  expressions  like  these 

May  be  fairly  applied 
By  a  party  who  sees 

A  Society  skied 

Upon    tea   that  the   Warden    of    Keble    had    biled    with 
legitimate  pride. 


1 8  QUILLER-COUCH 

'Twas  November  tlie  third, 

And  I  says  to  Bill  Nye, 
"  Which  it's  true  what  I've  heard  : 

If  you're,  so  to  speak,  fly, 

There's  a  chance  of  some  tea  and  cheap  culture,  the  sort 
recommended  as  High." 


Which  I  mentioned  its  name 
And  he  ups  and  remarks  : 
"  If  dress-coats  is  the  game 

And  pow-wow  in  the  Parks, 

Then  I'm  nuts  on  Sordello  and  Hohensteil-Schwangau  and 
similar  Snarks." 


Now  the  pride  of  Bill  Nye 

Cannot  well  be  express'd  ; 
For  he  wore  a  white  tie 

And  a  cut-away  vest : 

Says  I  :  "  Solomon's  lilies  ain't  in  it,  and  they  was  reputed 
well  dress'd." 


But  not  far  did  we  wend, 

When  we  saw  Pippa  pass 
On  the  arm  of  a  friend 
— Dr.  Purnivall  'twas, 

And   he   wore   in  his  hat  two  half -tickets  for  London, 
return,  second-class. 


"  Well,"  I  thought,  "  this  is  odd." 

But  we  came  pretty  quick 
To  a  sort  of  a  quad 

That  was  all  of  red  brick, 

And  I  says  to  the  porter  :    "  R.   Browning  :   free  passes 
and  kindly  look  slick." 


But  says  he,  dripping  tears 

In  his  check  handkerchief, 
"  That  symposium's  career's 

Been  regrettably  brief, 

For  it  went  all  its  pile  upon  crumpets  and  busted  on  gun- 
powder leaf  !  " 


QUILLER-COUCH  19 

Then  we  tucked  up  the  sleeves 

Of  our  shirts  (that  were  biled), 
Which  the  reader  perceives 

That  our  feelings  were  riled. 

And  we  went  for  that  man  till  his  mother  had  doubted  the 
traits  of  her  child. 

Which  emotions  like  these 
Must  be  freely  indulged 
By  a  party  who  sees 

A  Society  bulged 

On  a  reef  the  existence  of  which  its  prospectus  had  never 
divulged. 

But  I  ask  :  Do  I  dream  ? 

Has  it  gone  up  the  spout ; 
Are  things  what  they  seem, 

Or  is  Sophists  about  ? 

Is  our  T&  ri  fa  tlvai  a  failure,  or  is  Robert  Browning  played 
out  ? 

SIK   ARTHUR   QUIIAER-COUCH. 


This  parody  on  Bret  Harte's  "  Plain  Language  from  Truthful  James  '' 
was  written  at  the  time  when  the  Browning  Society  at  Keble  College,*Oxford, 
came  to  an  end — apparently,  according  to  these  verses,  because  its  funds 
had  been  exhausted  in  afternoon  teas ! 

ri  rl  fa  elvcii  (pronounced  toe  tee  ane  einai).  In  Oxford  special  attention 
is  paid  to  Aristotle ;  and  Quiller-Couch,  being  an  Oxford  man,  assumes 
that  his  readers  are  familiar  with  this  phrase.  It  means  "  the  essential 
nature  of  a  thing,"  or,  literally,  "  the  question  what  a  thing  really  is." 
Such  a  Society  would  be  engaged  in  discovering  the  true  meaning  of  Brown- 
ing's difficult  poems,  so  that  the  phrase  is  as  appropriate  as  it  is  amusing 
in  its  application. 

The  title*  "  De  Tea  fabula  "  is  a  pun  on  Horace's  "  Quid  rides  ?  Mutato 
nomine  de  te  Fabula  narratur  "  (Sat.  i,  69).  "  Wherefore  do  you  laugh  ? 
Change  but  the  name,  of  thee  the  tale  is  told."  Oxford,  which  Matthew 
Arnold  called  the  home  of  lost  causes,  still  refuses  to  pronounce  Latin 
correctly,  and  makes  te  rhyme  with  fee,  see,  bee.  It  ought  of  course 
to  rhyme  with/<7y,  say,  bay.  Or  possibly  Sir  Arthur  has  reverted  to  the 
pronunciation  of  ea  which  prevailed  until  the  end  of  the  Eighteenth  Century. 
See  Pope's  "  Rape  of  the  Lock  "  : 

Here  thou,  great  Anna,  whom  three  realms  obey, 
Dost  sometimes  counsel  take — and  sometimes  tea. 
Dr.  FurnivaJl  (1825-1^10),  an  eminent  philologist,  was  the  founder 
of  the  society,  the  first  society  ever  formed  to  study  the  works  of  a  living 
poet.     From  the  context  he  may  have  specially  admired,  as  he  certainly 
threw  special  light  upon,  Browning's  Pippa  Passes. 
Scout  at  Oxford  is  a  (male)  college  servant. 


20  BROWNING— BUCHANAN 

ONE  fine  frosty  day, 
My  stomach  being  empty  as  your  hat. 

R.  BROWNING, 

(Fra  Lippo  Lipp%). 
The  "  cheekiest  "  line  I  know. 


TO  THE  MOON 

THE  wind  is  shrill  on  the  hills,  and  the  plover 

Wheels  up  and  down  with  a  windy  scream  ; 
The  birch  has  loosen'd  her  bright  locks  over 

The  nut-brown  pools  of  the  mountain  stream  : 
Yet  here  I  linger  in  London  City, 

Thinking  of  meadows  where  I  was  born — 
And  over  the  roofs,  like  a  face  of  pity, 

Up  comes  the  Moon,  with  her  dripping  horn. 

0  Moon,  pale  Spirit,  with  dim  eyes  drinking 
The  sheen  of  the  Sun  as  he  sweepeth  by, 

1  am  looking  long  in  those  eyes,  and  thinking 

Of  one  who  hath  loved  thee  longer  than  1 ; 
I  am  asking  my  heart  if  ye  Spirits  cherish 

The  souls  that  ye  witch  with  a  harvest  call  ? — 
If  the  dreams  must  die  when  the  dreamer  perish  ?- 

If  it  be  idle  to  dream  at  all  ? 

The  waves  of  the  world  roll  hither  and  thither, 

The  tumult  deepens,  the  days  go  by, 
The  dead  men  vanish — we  know  not  whither, 

The  live  men  anguish — we  know  not  why  ; 
The  cry  of  the  stricken  is  smothered  never, 

The  Shadow  passes  from  street  to  street ; 
And — o'er  us  fadeth,  for  ever  and  ever, 

The  still  white  gleam  of  thy  constant  feet. 

The  hard  men  struggle,  the  students  ponder. 

The  world  rolls  round  on  its  westward  way  ; 
The  gleam  of  the  beautiful  night  up  yonder 

Is  dim  on  the  dreamer's  cheek  all  day  ; 
The  old  earth's  voice  is  a  sound  of  weeping, 

Round  her  the  waters  wash  wild  and  vast, 
There  is  no  calm,  there  is  little  sleeping, — 

Yet  nightly,  brightly,  thou  glimmerest  past ! 


B  UCH  AN  AN— ELIOT 

Another  summer  new  dreams  departed. 

And  yet  we  are  lingering,  thou  and  I ; 
I  on  the  earth,  with  my  hope  proud-hearted, 

Thou,  in  the  void  of  a  violet  sky  ! 
Thou  art  there  !  I  am  here  !  and  the  reaping  and  mowing 

Of  the  harvest  year  is  over  and  done. 
And  the  hoary  snow-drift  will  soon  be  blowing 

Under  the  wheels  of  the  whirling  Sun. 

While  tower  and  turret  lie  silver'd  under, 

When  eyes  are  closed  and  lips  are  dumb, 
In  the  nightly  pause  of  the  human  wonder, 

From  dusky  portals  I  see  thee  come  ; 
And  whoso  wakes  and  beholds  thee  yonder, 

Is  witch'd  like  me  till  his  days  shall  cease, — 
For  in  his  eyes,  wheresoever  he  wander, 

Flashes  the  vision  of  God's  white  Peace,. 

R.  BUCHANAN. 


THERE  is  no  short  cut,  no  patent  tramroad,  to  wisdom  :  after 
all  the  centuries  of  invention,  the  soul's  path  lies  through  the 
thorny  wilderness  which  must  be  still  trodden  in  solitude,  with 
bleeding  feet,  with  sobs  for  help,  as  it  was  trodden  by  them 
of  old  time 

GEORGE  EWOT 
(The  Lifted  Veil}. 


LET  us  think  less  of  men  and  more  of  God. 

Sometimes  the  thought  comes  swiftening  over  us, 

Like  a  small  bird  winging  the  still  blue  air  ; 

And  then  again,  at  other  times,  it  rises 

Slow,  like  a  cloud,  which  scales  the  skies  all  breathless. 

And  just  overhead  lets  itself  down  on  us, 

Sometimes  we  feel  the  wish  across  the  mind 

Rush  like  a  rocket  tearing  up  the  sky, 

That  we  should  join  with  God,  and  give  the  world 

The  slip  :  but,  while  we  wish,  the  world  turns  round 


BAILEY— MASSEY 

And  peeps  us  in  the  face — the  wanton  world  ; 

We  feel  it  gently  pressing  down  our  arm — 

The  arm  we  had  raised  to  do  for  truth  such  wonders  : 

We  feel  it  softly  bearing  on  our  side — 

We  feel  it  touch  and  thrill  us  through  the  body, — 

And  we  are  fools,  and  there's  the  end  of  us. 

P.   J. 


IT  fell  upon  a  merry  May  morn, 

I'  the  perfect  prime  of  that  sweet  time 
When  daisies  whiten,  woodbines  climb, — 

The  dear  Babe  Christabel  was  born. 


Look  how  a  star  of  glory  swims 
Down  aching  silences  of  space, 
Flushing  the  Darkness  till  its  face 

With  beating  heart  of  light  o'erbrims  ! 


So  brightening  came  Babe  Christabel, 
To  touch  the  earth  with  fresh  romance, 
And  light  a  Mother's  countenance 

With  looking  on  her  miracle. 

With  hands  so  flower-like  soft,  and  fair, 
She  caught  at  life,  with  wcrds  as  sweet 
As  first  spring  violets,  and  feet 

As  faery-light  as  feet  of  air. 


She  grew,  a  sweet  and  sinless  Child, 
In  shine  and  shower, — calm  and  strife  ; 
A  Rainbow  on  our  dark  of  Life. 

From  Love's  own  radiant  heaven  down-smiled  ! 


In  lonely  loveliness  she  grew, — 

A  shape  all  music,  light,  and  love, 
With  startling  looks,  so  eloquent  of 

The  spirit  burning  into  view. 


MASSE  Y  23 


Such  mystic  lore  was  in  her  eyes, 
And  light  of  other  worlds  than  ours, 
She  looked  as  she  had  fed  on  flowers, 

And  drunk  the  dews  of  Paradise* 


Ah  !  she  was  one  of  those  who  come 
With  pledged  promise  not  to  stay 
Long,  ere  the  Angels  let  them  stray 

To  nestle  down  in  earthly  home  : 

And,  thro'  the  windows  of  her  eyes, 
We  often  saw  her  saintly  soul, 
Serene,  and  sad,  and  beautiful, 

Go  sorrowing  for  lost  Paradise. 

She  came — like  music  in  the  night 
Floating  as  heaven  in  the  brain, 
A  moment  oped,  and  shut  again, 

And  all  is  dark  where  all  was  light. 


In  this  dim  world  of  clouding  cares, 
We  rarely  know,  till  wildered  eyes 
See  white  wings  lessening  up  the  skies, 

The  Angels  with  us  unawares. 

Our  beautiful  Bird  of  light  hath  fled  ; 

Awhile  she  sat  with  folded  wings  — 

Sang  round  us  a  few  hoverings  — 
Then  straightway  into  glory  sped. 

And  white-wing'd  Angels  nurture  her  ; 

With  heaven's  white  radiance  robed  and  crown  'd, 

And  all  Love's  purple  glory  round, 
She  summers  on  the  Hills  of  Myrrh. 

Thro'  Childhood's  morning-land,  serene 
She  walked  betwixt  us  twain,  like  Love  ; 
While,  in  a  robe  of  light  above, 

Her  better  Angel  walked  imseen,  — 

Till  Life's  highway  broke  bleak  and  wild  ; 
Then,  lest  her  starry  garments  trail 
In  mire,  heart  bleed,  and  courage  fail, 

The  Angel's  arms  caught  up  the  child. 


Cf.  Coleridge  p. 


24  MASSKY  AND  OTHERS 

Her  wave  of  lii'e  hath  backward  roll'd 
To  the  great  ocean  ;  on  whose  shore 
We  wander  up  and  down,  to  store 

Some  treasures  of  the  times  of  old  : 

And  aye  we  seek  and  hunger  on 

For  precious  pearls  and  relics  rare, 
Strewn  on  the  sands  for  us  to  wear 
At  heart,  for  love  of  her  that's  gone. 

GERALD  MASSEY 
(The-  Ballad  of  Babe  Christabel] 

These  exquisite  verses  appear  to  be  forgotten. 


IF  you  loved  only  what  were  worth  your  love, 
Ivove  were  clear  gain,  and  wholly  well  for  you  : 
Make  the  low  nature  better  by  your  throes  ! 
Give  earth  yourself,  go  up  for  gain  above  ! 

R.  BROWNING 
(James  Lee's  Wife). 


....  HE  knows  with  what  strange  fires  He  mixed  this  dust. 

Hereditary  bent 

That  hedges  in  intent 
He  knows,  be  sure,  the  God  who  shaped  thy  brain. 

He  loves  the  souls  He  made, 

He  knows  His  own  hand  laid 
On  each  the  mark  of  some  ancestral  stain. 

ANNA  REEVE  AI,DRICH. 


I  HAVE  lost  the  dream  of  Doing, 
And  the  other  dream  of  Done, 
The  first  spring  in  the  pursuing, 
The  first  pride  in  the  Begun, — 
First  recoil  from  incompletion,  in  the  face  of  what  is  won. 

E.  B.  BROWNING 
(The  Lost  Bower). 

It  is  the  saddest  of  things  that  we  lose  our  early  enthusiasms. 


SPENSER— EMERSON  25 

THE  other  (maiden)  up  arose* 

And  her  fair  lockes,  which  formerly  were  bound 

Up  in  one  knot,  she  low  adowne  did  loose  : 

Which,  flowing  long  and  thick  her  clothed  around, 

And  the  ivorie  in  golden  mantle  gowned  : 

So  that  fair  spectacle  from  him  was  reft, 

Yet  that,  which  reft  it,  no  less  faire  was  found  : 

So,  hid  in  lockes  and  waves  from  looker's  theft, 

Nought  but  her  lovely  face  she  for  his  looking  left. 

Withall  she  laughed,  and  she  blushed  withall, 
That  blushing  to  her  laughter  gave  more  grace, 
And  laughter  to  her  blushing. 

SPENSER 

(Faerie  Oueene  2,  XII,  67). 


I  LOVE  and  honour  Epaminoudas,  but  I  do  not  wish  to  be 
Epaminondas.  Nor  can  you  excite  me  to  the  least  uneasiness 
by  saying,  "  He  acted,  and  thou  sittest  still."  I  see  action  to 
be  good,  when  the  need  is,  and  sitting  still  to  be  also  good.  One 
piece  of  the  tree  is  cut  for  a  weathercock,  and  one  for  the  sleeper 
of  a  bridge  ;  the  virtue  of  the  wood  is  apparent  in  both. 

R.  w.  EMERSON 

(Spiritual  Laws) . 


YOU  know  what  a  sad  and  sombre  decorum  it  is  that  outwardly 
reigns  through  the  lands  oppressed  by  Moslem  sway.  By  a 
strange  chance  in  these  latter  days,  it  happened  that,  alone  of 
all  the  places  in  the  land,  this  Bethlehem,  the  native  village  of 
our  Lord,  escaped  the  moral  yoke  of  the  Mussulmans,  and  heard 
again,  after  ages  of  dull  oppression,  the  cheering  clatter  of  social 
freedom,  and  the  voices  of  laughing  girls.  When  I  was  at  Beth- 
lehem, though  long  after  the  flight  of  the  Mussulmans,  the  cloud 
of  Moslem  propriety  had  not  yet  come  back  to  cast  its  cold 
shadow  upon  life.  When  you  reach  that  gladsome  village, 
pray  heaven  there  still  may  be  heard  there  the  voice  of  free  inno- 
cent girls.  Distant  at  first,  and  then  nearer  and  nearer  the 
timid  flock  will  gather  round  you  with  their  large  burning  eyes 

*  The  girls  are  bathing. 


26  KINGLAKE 

gravely  fixed  against  yours,  so  that  they  see  into  your  brain  ; 
and  if  you  imagine  evil  against  them  they  will  know  of  your  ill- 
thought  before  it  is  yet  well  born,  and  will  fly  and  be  gone  in  the 
moment.  But  presently  if  you  will  only  look  virtuous  enough  to 
prevent  alarm,  and  vicious  enough  to  avoid  looking  silly,  the 
blithe  maidens  will  draw  nearer  and  nearer  to  you  ;  and  soon  there 
will  be  one,  the  bravest  of  the  sisters,  who  will  venture  right 
up  to  your  side,  and  touch  the  hem  of  your  coat  in  playful  defiance 
of  the  danger  ;  and  then  the  rest  will  follow  the  daring  of  their 
youthful  leader,  and  gather  close  round  you,  and  hold  a  shrill 
controversy  on  the  wondrous  formation  that  you  call  a  hat,  and 
the  cunning  of  the  hands  that  clothed  you  with  cloth  so  fine  ; 
and  then,  growing  more  profound  in  their  researches,  they  will 
pass  from  the  study  of  your  mere  dress  to  a  serious  contemplation 
of  your  stately  height,  and  your  nut-brown  hair,  and  the  ruddy 
glow  of  your  English  cheeks.  And  if  they  catch  a  glimpse 
of  your  ungloved  fingers,  then  again  will  they  make  the  air  ring 
with  their  sweet  screams  of  delight  and  amazement,  as  they 
compare  the  fairness  of  your  hand  with  the  hues  of  your  sunburnt 
face,  or  with  their  own  warmer  tints.  Instantly  the  ringleader 
of  the  gentle  rioters  imagines  a  new  sin  ;  with  tremulous  boldness 
she  touches,  then  grasps  your  hand,  and  smoothes  it  gently 
betwixt  her  own,  and  pries  curiously  into  its  make  and  colour, 
as  though  it  were  silk  of  Damascus  or  shawl  of  Cashmere.  And 
when  they  see  you,  even  then  still  sage  and  gentle,  the  joyous 
girls  will  suddenly,  and  screamingly,  and  all  at  once,  explain 
to  each  other  that  you  are  surely  quite  harmless  and  innocent 
— a  lion  that  makes  no  spring — a  bear  that  never  hugs  ;  and  upon 
this  faith,  one  after  the  other,  they  will  take  your  passive  hand, 
and  strive  to  explain  it,  and  make  it  a  theme  and  a  controversy. 
But  the  one — the  fairest  and  the  sweetest  of  all — is  yet  the  most 
timid  :  she  shrinks  from  the  daring  deeds  of  her  playmates, 
and  seeks  shelter  behind  their  sleeves,  and  strives  to  screen 
her  glowing  consciousness  from  the  eyes  that  look  upon  her. 
But  her  laughing  sisters  will  have  none  of  this  cowardice  ;  they 
vow  that  the  fair  one  shall  be  their  complice — shall  share  their 
dangers — shall  touch  the  hand  of  the  stranger  ;  they  seize  her 
small  wrist  and  draw  her  forward  by  force,  and  at  last,  whilst 
yet  she  strives  to  turn  away,  and  to  cover  up  her  whole  soul  under 
the  folds  of  downcast  eyelids,  they  vanquish  her  utmost  strength, 
they  vanquish  her  utmost  modesty  and  marry  her  hand  to 
yours.  The  quick  pulse  springs  from  her  fingers  and  throbs 
like  a  whisper  upon  your  listening  palm.  For  an  instant  her 
large  timid  eyes  are  upon  you— in  an  instant  they  are  shrouded 
again,  and  there  comes  a  blush  so  burning,  that  the  frightened 
girls  stay  their  shrill  laughter  as  though  they  had  played  too 
perilously  and  harmed  their  gentle  sister.  A  moment,  and  all 
with  a  sudden  intelligence  turn  away  and  fly  like  deer  ;  yet  soon 


C.  ROSSETTI  AND  OTHERS  27 

again  like  deer  they  wheel  round,  and  return,  and  stand,  and  gaze 
upon  the  danger,  until  they  grow  brave  once  more. 

A.    W.    KlNGI,AKl£ 

(Eothen}. 

Let  us  hope  that  the  present  war  will  be  a  successful  "  Crusade  "  and 
that  the  Turks  will  disappear  from  the  land  which  is  sacred  to  the  memory 
of  our  Lord. 


DISCED  ANT  nunc  amores  ;  maneat  Amor. 
(Loves,  farewell ;  let  Love,  the  sole,  remain.) 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACED. 


/    REMEMBER  me  when  I  am  gone  away, 
/  Gone  far  away  into  the  silent  land  ; 

/  When  you  can  no  more  hold  me  by  the  hand, 

Nor  I  half  turn  to  go  yet  turning  stay. 
Remember  me  when  no  more  day  by  day 
You  tell  me  of  our  future  that  you  planned  : 
Only  remember  me  ;  you  understand 
\       It  will  be  late  to  counsel  then  or  pray. 
Yet  if  you  should  forget  me  for  a  while 

And  afterwards  remember,  do  not  grieve  : 
For  if  the  darkness  and  corruption  leave 
A  vestige  of  the  thoughts  that  once  I  had, 
\          Better  by  far  you  should  forget  and  smile 
Than  that  you  should  remember  and  be  sad. 

CHRISTINA  ROSSETTI 

Compare  Shakespeare's  sonnet  LXXI  : 

No  longer  mourn  for  me  when  I  am  dead, 

for  I  love  you  so 

That  I  in  your  sweet  thoughts  would  be  forgot, 
If  thinking  on  me  then  should  make  you  woe. 


I  SAW  a  son  weep  o'er  a  mother's  grave  : 
"Ay,  weep,  poor  boy — weep  thy  most  bitter  tears 
That  thou  shalt  smile  so  soon.  '  We  bury  L/ove, 
Forgetfulness  grows  over  it  like  grass  ; 
That  is  the  thing  to  weep  for,  not  the  dead." 

ALEXANDER  SMITH 
(A  Boy's  Poem) 


28  WESTBURY— WHITTIER 

UNTIL  DEATH 

IF  thou  canst  love  another,  be  it  so. 
I  would  not  reach  out  of  my  quiet  grave 
To  bind  thy  heart,  if  it  should  choose  to  go. 
Love  shall  not  be  a  slave 

It  would  not  make  me  sleep  moie  peacefully, 
That  thou  wert  waiting  all  thy  life  in  woe 
For  my  poor  sake.     What  love  thou  hast  for  me 
Bestow  it  ere  I  go.  .... 

Forget  me  when  I  die.     The  violets 
Above  my  rest  will  blossom  just  as  blue 
Nor  miss  thy  tears — E'en  Nature's  self  forgets — 
But  while  I  live  be  true. 

F.  A.  WESTBURY. 

These  verses  are  by  a  South  Australian  writer.  "  Forget  me  when  I 
die  "  is  an  unpleasing  sentiment ;  yet  in  "  When  I  am  dead,  my  dearest," 
Christina  Rossetti  says  : 

If  thou  wilt,  remember, 
And  if  thou  wilt,  forget. 

As  regards  the  latter  poem,  the  curious  fact  is  that  it  is  read  as  an  exquisite 
piece  of  wusic,  and  not  for  any  poetic  thought  it  contains.  If  it  bos  any 
coherent  meaning,  it  is  that  the  speaker  is  indifferent  whether  or  not  "  her 
dearest "  will  remember  her  or  she  will  remember  him.  Yet  the  haunting 
music  of  the  lines  has  made  it  a  favourite  poem,  and  it  finds  a  place  in  all 
the  leading  anthologies.  Christina  Rossetti  is  by  no  means  a  great  poet. 
(Mr.  Gosse's  estimate  in  the  Britannica  is  exaggerated),  but  she  had  a  wonder- 
ful gift  of  language  and  metre.  Take,  for  example,  the  pretty  lilt  contained 
in  the  simplest  words  in  "  Maiden-Song  "  : 
Long  ago  and  long  ago, 

And  long  ago  still, 
There  dwelt  three  merry  maidens 

Upon  a  distant  hill. 
One  was  tall  Meggan, 

And  one  was  dainty  May, 
But  one  was  fair  Margaret, 

More  fair  than   I   can  say, 
Long  ago  and  long  ago. 


AND  yet,  dear  heart !  remembering  thee, 

Am  I  not  richer  than  of  old  ? 
Safe  in  thy  immortality, 

What  change  can  reach  the  wealth  I  hold 
What  chance  can  mar  the  pearl  and  gold 

Thy  love  hath  left  in  trust  for  me  ? 


WHITTIER  AND  OTHERS  29 

And  while  in  life's  long  afternoon, 

Where  cool  and  long  the  shadows  grow, 
I  walk  to  meet  the  night  that  soon 

Shall  shape  and  shadow  overflow, 
I  cannot  feel  that  thou  art  far, 
Since  near  at  need  the  angels  are  ; 
And  when  the  sunset  gates  unbar, 

Shall  I  not  see  thee  waiting  stand, 
And,   white   against  the  evening  star, 

The  welcome  of  thy  beckoning  hand  ? 

JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIKR. 

(Snow-Bound) . 


I  HAVE  a  dream — that  some  day  I  shall  go 

At  break  of  dawn  adown  a  rainy  street, 

A  grey  old  street,  and  I  shall  come  in  the  end 

To  the  little  house  I  have  known,  and  stand  ;  and  you, 

Mother  of  mine,  who  watch  and  wait  for  me, 

Will  you  not  hear  my  footstep  in  the  street, 

And,  as  of  old,  be  ready  at  the  door, 

To  give  me  rest  again  ?     .     .     .      I  shall  come  home. 

H.  D.  LOWRY. 


SURPRISED  by  joy— impatient  as  the  Wind 

I  turned  to  share  the  transport — Oh  !  with  whom 

But  Thee,  deep  buried  in  the  silent  tomb, 

That  spot  which  no  vicissitude  can  find  ? 

Love,  faithful  love,  recalled  thee  to  my  mind — 

But  how  could  I  forget  thee  ?    Through  what  power. 

Even  for  the  least  division  of  an  hour, 

Have  I  been  so  beguiled  as  to  be  blind 

To  my  most  grievous  loss  ! — That  thought's  return 

Was  the  worst  pang  that  sorrow  ever  bore, 

Save  one,  one  only,  when  I  stood  forlorn, 

Knowing  my  heart's  best  treasure  was  no  more  ; 

That  neither  present  time,  nor  years  unborn 

Could  to  my  sight  that  heavenly  face  restore. 

WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH 


30  HOOD— MORRIS 

Written  of  the  poet's  child  Catherine,  who  died  in  1812  at  three  years 
of  age,  and  of  whom  Wordsworth  had  also  written,  "  Loving  she  is,  and  tract- 
able, though  wild."  forty  yean  after  the  death  of  this  child  and  her 
brother,  who  died  about  the  same  time,  the  poet  spoke  of  them  to  Aubrey 
de  Vcre  with  the  same  acute  sense  of  bereavement  as  if  they  had  only 
recently  died. 


DEATH 

IT  is  not  death,  that  sometime  in  a  sigh 

This  eloquent  breath  shall  take  its  speechless  flight ; 

That  sometime  these  bright  stars,  that  now  reply 

In  sunlight  to  the  sun,  shall  set  in  night : 

That  this  warm  conscious  flesh  shall  perish  quite, 

And  all  life's  ruddy  springs  forget  to  flow ; 

That  thoughts  shall  cease,  and  the  immortal  spright 

Be  lapp'd  in  alien  clay  and  laid  below  ; 

It  is  not  death  to  know  this, — but  to  know 

That  pious  thoughts,  which  visit  at  new  graves 

In  tender  pilgrimage,  will  cease  to  go 

So  duly  and  so  oft — and  when  grass  waves 

Over  the  passed-away,  there  may  be  then 

No  resurrection  in  the  minds  of  men. 

THOMAS  HOOD. 


A  LITTLE  pain,  a  little  fond  regret, 
A  little  shame,  and  we  are  living  yet, 
While  love,  that  should  outlive  us,  lieth  dead. 

W.  MORRIS. 


O  NEVER  rudely  will  I  blame  his  faith 
In  the  might  of  stars  and   angels!  .... 

.  .  .  .  For  the  stricken  heart  of  Love 
This  visible  nature,  and  this  common  world. 
Is  all  too  narrow  :  yea,  a  deeper  import 
Lurks  in  the  legend  told  my  infant  years 


COLERIDGE  31 

Than  lies  upon  that  truth,  we  live  to  learn, 

For  fable  is  Love's  world,  his  home,  his  birth-place  : 

Delightedly  dwells  he  'raong  fays  and  talismans, 

And  spirits  ;  and  delightedly  believes 

Divinities,  being  himself  divine. 

The  intelligible  forms  of  ancient  poets, 

The  fair  humanities  of  old  religion, 

The  Power,  the  Beauty,  and  the  Majesty, 

That  had  their  haunts  in  dale,  or  piny  mountain, 

Or  forest  by  slow  stream,  or  pebbly  spring, 

Or  chasms  and  wat'ry  depths  ;  all  these  have  vanished. 

They  live  no  longer  in  the  faith  of  reason  ! 

But  still  the  heart  doth  need  a  language,  still 

Doth  the  old  instinct  bring  back  the  old  names, 

And  to  yon  starry  world  they  now  are  gone, 

Spirits  or  gods,  that  used  to  share  this  earth 

With  man  as  with  their  friend  ;  and  to  the  lover 

Yonder  they  move,  from  yonder  visible  sky 

Shoot  influence  down  :  and  even  at  this  day 

'Tis  Jupiter  who  brings  whate'er  is  great, 

And  Venus  who  brings  everything  that's  fair. 

S.  T.  COI.ERIDGE 
(Wallenstein — The  Piccolomini) . 

His  faith. — Wallenstein,    the  great   German   soldier   and    statesman 
1583-1634)  believed  in  astrology. 

The  "  intelligible  forms  of  ancient  poets  "  and  "  fair  humanities  of 
old  religion  "  are  the  gods  and  inferior  divinities  that  please  our  fancy. 
Thus  the  Greeks  peopled  the  heavens  (not  very  distant  heavens  to  them) 
with  their  gods  who  visited  earth  and  mingled  with  men.  There  were  also 
the  lesser  deities,  as  the  Hours  and  the  Graces  ;  and  also  the  Nymphs — 
the  Nereids,  Naiads,  Orcades  and  Dryads — who  inhabited  seas,  springs, 
rivers,  and  trees  respectively.  The  Nymphs  would  correspond  somewhat 
to  the  elves,  gnomes  and  fairies  of  Northern  religions. 

Coleridge's  translation  of  "  Wallenstein  "  (of  which  "  The  Piccolomini  " 
is  a  portion)  is  considered  a  masterpiece.  Schiller  was  fortunate  in  having 
a  finer  poet  than  himself  to  translate  his  drama.  In  the  above  passage 
Coleridge  greatly  improved  on  the  original ;  the  seven  splendid  lines  begin- 
ning "  The  intelligible  forms  of  ancient  poets  "  are  his  and  not  Schiller's ; 
and,  therefore,  this  passage  may  fairly  be  ascribed  to  him  as  author. 


BY  rose-hung  river  and  light-foot  rill 
There  are  who  rest  not ;  who  think  long 

Till  they  discern  as  from  a  hill 

At  the  sun's  hour  of  morning  song, 


32  SWINBURNE— MOLIERE 

Known  of  souls  only,  and  those  souls  free. 
The  sacred  spaces  ot  the  sea. 

A.  C.  SWINBURNE 
(Prelude — Songs  before  Sunrise]. 

The  sea  typifies  the  wider,  nobler  life  of  the  soul. 


JE  prends  mon  bien  ou  je  le  trouve. 

(I  take  my  property  wherever  I  find  it.) 

MoUERE  (1622-1673). 

This  famous  saying  is  quoted  in  French  literature  as  though  Moliere 
had  said,  "  I  admit  plagiarism,  but  1  so  improve  what  I  borrow  from  others 
that  it  becomes  my  own  "  (see  Larousse,  under  "  Bien  "). 
"  Tho'  old  the  thought  and  oft  expressed, 
'Tis  his  at  last  who  says  it  best." 

It  is,  however,  an  interesting  question  whether  this  was  the  true  meaning 
intended  by  Moliere. 

The  story  is  told  by  Grimarest,  the  first  biographer  of  the  great  drama- 
tist. In  1671  Moliere  produced  Les  Fourberies  de  Scapin,  in  which  he  had 
inserted  two  scenes  taken  from  Le  Pedant  Joue,  of  Cyrano  de  Bergerac 
(1619-1655).  (They  are  the  amusing  scenes  where  Geronte  repeatedly 
says,  Que  diable  allait-il  faire  dans  celt  e  gale  re,  "What  the  deuce  was  he  doing 
in  that  Turkish  galley  ?  ")  Grimarest  says  that  Cyrano  had  used  in  these 
scenes  what  he  had  overheard  from  Moliere,  and  that  the  latter,  when  taxed 
with  the  plagiarism,  replied,  "  Je  reprends  mon  bien  ou  je  le  trouve  "  ("  I 
take  back  my  property,  wherever  I  find  it ").  That  is  to  say,  he  definitely 
denied  the  plagiarism. 

Voltaire,  in  a  "  Life  of  Moliere,"  makes  a  general  assertion  (not  refer- 
ring specially  to  this  incident)  that  all  Grimarest's  stories  are  false.  This 
must,  of  course,  be  far  too  sweeping  an  assertion,  and  Grimarest  is  in  fact 
quoted  as  an  authority.  Voltaire  himself  (1694-1778)  uses  the  saying  in 
the  sense  given  by  Gri'marest  (La  Pucette,  Chant  III.)  : 

Cette  culotte  est  mienne  ;  et  je  prendrai 

Ce  que  fut  mien  ou  je  le  trouverai. 

"  These  breeches  are  mine,  and  I  shall  take  what  was  mine  wherever  I 
find  it.")  Agnes  Sorel  had  been  captured  dressed  as  a  man  and  wearing 
the  garment  in  question,  which  had  been  previously  stolen  from  the  speaker. 

It  seems  to  me  that  Grimarest's  story  must  be  accepted,  that  Moliere 
claimed  the  scenes  as  originally  his  and  denied  plagiarism.  There  is  no 
evidence  to  the  contrary,  and  the  saying  is  given  its  obvious  meaning.  (It 
is  word  for  word  as  in  the  Digest,  Ubi  rent  meant  invenio,  ibi  vindico,  "  Where 
I  find  my  own  property,  I  appropriate  it.")  But  the  question  then  arises, 
Why  should  so  commonplace  a  statement  have  attained  such  notoriety  ? 


El  JOT  33 

The  explanation  seems  simple.  Moliere  had  many  jealous  and  bitter 
enemies,  who  laid  every  charge  they  could  against  him.  He  was  well  known 
to  have  borrowed  ideas,  characters  and  scenes  in  all  directions — and  his 
enemies  constantly  and  persistently  attacked  him  on  this  ground.  Then 
came  his  most  glaring  plagiarism  from  a  comparatively  recent  play,  written 
by  a  man  whose  dare-devil  exploits  had  made  him  a  perfect  hero  of  romance. 
Moliere's  story  that  Cyrano  had  previously  stolen  the  scenes  from  him  would 
not  been  have  accepted  for  a  moment.  Cyrano  had  never  been  known  to 
plagiarize,  nor  would  it  have  been  natural  for  a  man  of  his  character  to  do 
anything  clandestine.  Also  Moliere  would  have  had  nothing  to  support  his 
statement — and  Cyrano  was  not  alive  to  contradict  him.  The  conclusion, 
therefore,  seems  to  be  that  the  dramatist's  statement  was  received  in  Paris 
with  such  incredulity,  indignation,  and  ridicule  that  it  became  a  byword. 

But  if  this  is  so,  why  have  the  words  been  given  an  entirely  fictitious 
meaning  ?  The  answer  seems  to  lie  in  the  fact  that  as  Moliere's  great 
genius  became  realized  the  desire  arose  to  remove  a  blemish  from  his 
character.  His  is  the  greatest  name  in  French  literature,  and  almost 


serious  matter  to  Frenchmen  that  he  should  have  borrowed  from  Cyrano, 
but  it  was  a  distinct  blemish  on  his  character  that  he  should  have  denied 
the  fact  and  also  slandered  a  dead  man.  Ordinarily,  in  such  a  case,  the 
story  is  ignored  and  forgotten,  just  as  the  one  improper  act  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  his  borrowing  from  Coleridge  of  the  "  Christabel "  metre,  is  usually 
ignored  or  slurred  over.  But  the  saying  had  become  rooted  in  literature 
and  this  course  was  not  practicable.  However,  there  is  little  that  enthu- 
siasm cannot  accomplish  by  some  means  or  other,  and  the  object  in  this 
instance  has  been  achieved  by  reversing  the  meaning  of  Moliere's  words. 
If  this  conjecture  is  correct,  it  is  an  illustration  of  wnat  has  occurred  on  a 
far  greater  scale  in  connection  with  the  Greeks  (see  Index  of  Subjects) 

As  regards  the  meaning  now  given  to  the  saying,  Seneca  claimed  the 
same  right  to  borrow  at  will.  Quidquid  bene  dictum  est  ab  ullo,  meum  est  (Ep. 
XVI).  After  advising  his  reader  to  consider  the  Epistle  carefully  and  see 
what  value  it  had  for  him,  he  says,  "  You  need  not  be  surprised  if  I  am  still 
free  with  other  people's  property.  But  why  do  I  say  '  other  people's 
property  '  ?  Whatever  has  Seen  well  said  by  anyone  belongs  to  me."* 

So  also  the  late  Samuel  Butler  said,  "  Appropriate  things  are  meant 
to  be  appropriated." 


OUR  finest  hope  is  finest  memory, 

As  they  who  love  in  age  think  youth  is  blest 

Because  it  has  a  life  to  fill  with  love. 

GEORGE  EWOT 

(A  Minor  Poet). 

The  information  in  this  note  comes  partly  from  Notes  and  Queries. 


34  MARTINEAU  AND  OTHERS 

THE  disposition  to  judge  every  enterprise  by  its  event,  and 
believe  in  no  wisdom  that  is  not  endorsed  by  success,  is  apt 
to  grow  upon  us  with  years,  till  we  sympathize  with  nothing 
for  which  we  cannot  take  out  a  policy  of  assurance. 

JAMES  MARTINEAU 
(Hours  of  Thought   I,   87). 


IF  once  a  man  indulges  himself  in  murder,  very  soon  he  comes 
to  think  little  of  robbing  ;  and  from  robbing  he  comes  next  to 
drinking  and  Sabbath-breaking,  and  from  that  to  incivility 
and  procrastination.  Once  begin  upon  this  downward  path, 
you  never  know  where  you  are  to  stop.  Many  a  man  has  dated 
his  ruin  from  some  murder  or  other  that  perhaps  he  thought 
little  of  at  the  time. 

De  QUINCEY 

(Murder,  as  one  of  the  Fine  Arts). 


FOR  when  the  mellow  autumn  flushed 

The  thickets,  where  the  chestnut  fell, 

And  in  the  vales  the  maple  blushed, 

Another  came  who  knew  her  well, 

Who  sat  with  her  below  the  pine 
And  with  her  through  the  meadow  moved. 
And  underneath  the  purpling  vine 
She  sang  to  him  the  song  I  loved. 

N.  G.  SHEPHERD. 


MRS.  CRUPP  had  indignantly  assured  him  that  there  wasn't 
room  to  swing  a  cat  there  ;  but,  as  Mr.  Dick  justly  observed  to 
me,  sitting  down  on  the  foot  of  the  bed,  nursing  his  leg,  "  You 
know,  Trotwood,  I  don't  want  to  swing  a  cat.  I  never  do  swing 
a  cat.  Therefore,  what  does  that  signify  to  me  !  " 

DICKENS 
(David  Copper-field). 


CARROLL  AND  OTHERS  35 

(AFTER  looking  at  his  watch)  "  Two  days  wrong  !  "  sighed 
the  Hatter.  "I  told  you  butter  would  not  suit  the  works  !  " 
he  added,  looking  angrily  at  the  March  Hare. 

"  It  was  the  best  butter,"  the  March  Hare  replied. 

LEWIS  CARROU, 
(Alice  in  Wonderland), 


"  THEY  were  learning  to  draw,"  the  Dormouse  went  on,  "  and 
they  drew  all  manner  of  things — everything  that  begins  with  an 
M— " 

"  Why  with  an  M  ?  "  said  Alice. 
"  Why  not  ?  "  said  the  March  Hare. 
Alice  was  silent. 

LEWIS  CARROIA 
(Alice  in  Wonderland). 


, 


PERHAPS,  as  two  negatives  make  one  affirmative,  it  may  be 
thought  that  two  layers  of  moonshine  might  coalesce  into  one 
pancake  ;  and  two  Barmecide  banquets  might  be  the  square 
root  of  one  poached  egg. 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACED. 


IN  a  Dublin  lunatic  asylum  one  of  the  inmates  peremptorily  \ 
ordered  a  visitor  to  take  off  his  hat.  Deferentially  obeying 
the  order,  the  visitor  asked  why  he  should  remove  his  hat.  The 
lunatic  replied  :  "  Do  you  not  know,  sir,  that  I  am  the  Crown 
Prince  of  Prussia  ?  "  Having  duly  made  his  apologies,  the 
visitor  proceeded  on  his  round  ;  but,  coming  upon  the  same 
lunatic,  was  met  with  the  same  demand.  Again  obeying  the 
order,  he  repeated  the  question  :  "  May  I  ask  why  you  wish  me 
to  take  off  my  hat  ?  "  The  lunatic  replied  :  "  Are  you  not  aware, 
sir,  that  I  am  the  Prince  of  Wales  ?  "  "  But,"  said  the  visitor. 
"  you  told  me  just  now  you  were  the  Crown  Prince  of  Prussia." 
The  lunatic,  after  scratching  his  head  and  deliberating  for  a 
moment,  replied  :  "  Ah,  but  that  was  by  a  different  mother." 

(Another  Irish  lunatic  always  lost  himself  and  insisted  on  looking 
for  himself  under  the  bed.) 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACED. 

These  are  true  stories  but  localized — another  injustice  to  Ireland  ! 


I 


36  SHAKBSPBARE— ROGERS 

WHEN  I  said  I  would  die  a  bachelor,  I  did  not  think  I  should 
live  till  I  were  married. 

(Much  Ado  About   Nothing.) 

Pointz.     COME,  your  reason,  Jack, — your  reason. 

Falstaft.  Give  you  a  reason  on  compulsion !  If  reasons 
were  as  plenty  as  blackberries,  I  would  give  no  man  a  reason 
upon  compulsion,  I. 

(i   Henry  IV,  ii,   4.) 

Reason  needs  to  be  given  its  old  pronunciation,  "  raison  "  (or  raisin) 
in  order  to  understand  FalstafFs  pun. 


STIL,L>  I  cannot  believe  in  clairvoyance — because  the  thing  is 
impossible. 

SAMUEL  ROGERS,  1763-1855 
(Table  Talk). 

Rogers  mentions  some  remarkable  facts  about  the  clairvoyant,  Alexis, 
and  ends  with  this  convincing  argument.  Apart  from  clairvoyance  (of 
which  I  know  nothing),  Rogers  would  no  doubt  have  made  a  similar  reply 
if  some  prophet  had  foretold  that  men  would  one  day  communicate  with 
each  other  by  wireless  telegraphy ;  and  the  same  effective  argument  is  to- 
day opposed  by  many  to  the  evidence  that  the  dead  communicate  with 
the  living. 

I  might  follow  the  eight  preceding  quotations  (which  illustrate  "  the 
art  of  reasoning  "  )  with  the  well-known  story  of  Charles  Lamb,  who,  when 
blamed  for  coming  late  to  the  office,  excused  himself  on  the  ground  that  he 
always  left  early.  (He  alto  said,  "A  man  could  not  have  too  little  to  do 
and  too  much  time  to  do  it  in.")  There  is  also  the  reply  of  Lord 
Rothschild,  when  the  cabman  told  him  that  his  son  paid  better  fares  than 
he  did,  "Yes,  but  he  has  a  rich  father,  and  I  haven't." 


TO  THE  TRUE  ROMANCE 

THY  face  is  far  from  this  our  war, 

Our  call  and  counter-cry, 
I  shall  not  find  Thee  quick  and  kind, 

Nor  know  Thee  till  I  die. 
Enough  for  me  in  dreams  to  see 

And  touch  Thy  garments'  hem  : 
Thy  feet  have  trod  so  near  to  God 

I  may  not  follow  them. 


KIPLING  37 


Through  wantonness  if  men  profess 

They  weary  of  Thy  parts, 
E'en  let  them  die  at  blasphemy 

And   perish   with   their   arts ; 
But  we  that  love,  but  we  that  prove 

Thine   excellence   august, 
While  we  adore  discover  more 

Thee  perfect,  wise,  and  just. 


Since  spoken  word  Man's  Spirit  stirred 

Beyond  his  belly-need, 
What  is  is  Thine  of  fair  design 

In  thought  and  craft  and  deed  ; 
Each  stroke  aright  of  toil  and  fight, 

That  was  and  that  shall  be, 
And  hope  too  high,  wherefore  we  die, 

Has  birth  and  worth  in  Thee. 


Who  holds  by  Thee  hath  Heaven  in  fee 

To  gild  his  dross  thereby, 
And  knowledge  sure  that  he  endure 

A  child  until  he  die — 
For  to  make  plain  that  man's  disdain 

Is  but  new  Beauty's  birth — 
For  to  possess  in  loneliness 

The  joy  of  all  the  earth. 


As  thou  didst  teach  all  lovers  speech 

And  Life  all  mystery, 
So  shalt  Thou  rule  by  every  school 

Till  love  and  longing  die, 
Who  wast  or  yet  the  Lights  were  set 

A  whisper  in  the  Void, 
Who  shalt  be  sung  through  planets  young 

When  this  is  clean  destroyed. 


Beyond  the  bounds  our  staring  rounds, 

Across  the  pressing  dark, 
The  children  wise  of  outer  skies 

Look  hitherward  and  mark 
A  light  that  shifts,  a  glare  that  drifts. 

Rekindling  thus  and  thus, 
Not  all  forlorn,  for  Thou  hast  borne 

Strange  tales  to  them  of  us 


38  KIPLING 

Time  hath  no  tide  but  must  abide 

The  servant  of  Thy  will ; 
Tide  hath  no  time,  for  to  Thy  rhyme 

The  ranging  stars  stand  still — 
Regent  of  spheres  that  lock  our  fears 

Our  hopes  invisible, 
Oh  !  'twas  certes  at  Thy  decrees 

We  fashioned  Heaven  and  Hell ! 


Pure  Wisdom  hath  no  certain  path 

That  lacks  thy  morning-eyne, 
And  captains  bold  by  Thee  controlled 

Most  like  to  God's  design  ; 
Thou  art  the  Voice  to  kingly  boys 

To  lift  them  through  the  fight, 
And  Comfortress  of  Unsuccess, 

To  give  the  dead  good-night. 

A  veil  to  draw  'twixt  God,  His  law, 

And  Man's  infirmity, 
A  shadow  kind  to  dumb  and  blind 

The  shambles  where  we  die  ; 
A  rule  to  trick  th*  arithmetic 

Too  base  of  leaguing  odds — 
The  spur  of  trust,  the  curb  of  lust, 

Thou  handmaid  of  the  Gods  ! 


O  Charity,  all  patiently 

Abiding  wrack  and  scaith  ! 
O  Faith,  that  meets  ten  thousand  cheats 

Yet  drops  no  jot  of  faith  ! 
Devil  and  brute  Thou  dost  transmute 

To  higher,  lordlier  show, 
Who  art  in  sooth  that  lovely  Truth 

The  careless  angels  know  ! 


Thy  face  is  far  from  this  our  war, 

Our  call  and  counter-cry, 
I  may  not  find  Thee  quick  and  kind, 

Nor  know  Thee  till  I  die. 


Yet  may  I  look  with  heart  unshook 
On  blow  brought  home  or  missed — 

Yet  may  I  hear  with  equal  ear 
The    clarions    down    the    List ; 


KIPLING— ELIOT  39 

Yet  set  my  lance  above  mischance 

And  ride  the  barrier e — 
Oh,  hit  or  miss,  how  little  'tis. 

My  Lady  is  not  there  ! 

RUDYARD  KIPLING. 

All  attempts  to  define  poetic  imagination,  to  determine  its  scope  or 
prescribe  its  limits,  leave  us  cold  and  unsatisfied,  for  the  simple  reason 
that  its  variety  and  range  are  unlimited.  The  aesthetic,  moral  and  spiritual 
faculties  are  all  in  essence  identical,  so  that  no  definition  of  the  aesthetic 
can  exclude  the  spiritual,  and  art  and  poetry  spring  from  the  same  root  as 
religion.  They  all  have  what  Wordsworth  calls  the  "  Spirit  of  Paradise."* 
Imagination!  in  its  larger  sense  includes  all  those  higher  faculties  of  man, 
all  that  lifts  him  above  his  material  existence.  The  "  True  Romance  " 
in  this  fine  poem  is  imagination  in  this  complete  sense.  By  our  lower 
perceptive  faculties  we  see  the  world  of  Nature  in  its  material  form ;  by 
our  higher  powers  we  apprehend  its  aesthetic,  moral  and  spiritual  beauty. 
(Man  with  his  consciousness,  will,  reason,  and  also  his  higher  imaginative 
faculties,  is  as  much  part  of  Nature  as  any  star  or  clod,  crystal  or  gas, 
fly  or  flower.)  Hence  imagination  gives  us  the  vision  of  glory  in  earth  and 
sky,  the  sense  of  wonder  and  worship,  the  emotions  of  sympathy  and  love ; 
it  teaches  us  duty  and  self  sacrifice  5  it  awakens  in  us  a  sense  of  the 
mystery  of  birth,  life  and  death,  directing  our  thoughts  from  the  finite  and 
material  world  to  the  infinite  realm  of  the  spiritual. 

Verse  4,  lines  5,  6.  Our  faculties  develop,  and  we  realize,  for  example, 
the  beauty  of  Nature  which  was  not  apparent  to  the  Greeks  of  Plato's 
time  (see  p.  379  ;  see  also  p.  283).  Verse  9,  I.  5,  6.  Imagination  teaches 
us  heroism.  In  the  italicized  verses,  "  our  war  "  is,  of  course,  the  strife 
of  our  material  existence  :  we  can  face  with  courage  the  mischances  of  life, 
seeing  that  "  My  Lady  Romance,"  the  soul  which  is  our  higher  nature , 
must  persist  through  life  and  after  death.  ( "Barriere"  barrier.) 


WE  are  on  a  perilous  margin  when  we  begin  to  look  passively 
at  our  future  selves,  and  see  our  own  figures  led  with  dull  consent 
into  insipid  misdoing  and  shabby  achievement. 


^EORGK 

(Middlemarch]  . 


THE  stars  make  no  noise. 

IRISH  PROVERB. 

*  See  p.  40. 

t   It  is  unfortunate  that  this  word  is  often  used  in  the  sense  of  something  unreal 
iere  idle  fancy  instead  of  an  active  creative  faculty,  see  pp.  357.  358. 


4o  WORDSWORTH— MACDONALD 

WHO  FANCIED  WHAT  A  PRETTY  SIGHT 

WHO  fancied  what  a  pretty  sight 
This  rock  would  be  if  edged  around 
With  living  snow-drops  ?  circlet  bright ! 
How  glorious  to  this  orchard  ground  ! 
Who  loved  the  little  rock,  and  set 
Upon  its  head  this  coronet  ? 

Was  it  the  humour  of  a  child  ? 

Or  rather  of  some  gentle  maid, 

Whose  brows,  the  day  that  she  was  styled 

The  Shepherd-queen,  were  thus  arrayed  ? 

Of  man  mature,  or  matron  sage  ? 

Or  old  man  toying  with  his  age  ? 

I  asked — 'twas  whispered,  "  The  device 
To  each  and  all  might  well  belong  : 
It  is  the  Spirit  of  Paradise 
That  prompts  such  work,  a  Spirit  strong 
That  gives  to  all  the  self-same  bent 
Where  life  is  wise  and  innocent." 

WORDSWORTH. 


THEY  who  believe  in  the  influences  of  the  stars  over  the  fates 
of  men  are,  in  feeling  at  least,  nearer  the  truth  than  they  who 
regard  the  heavenly  bodies  as  related  to  them  merely  by  a  com- 
mon obedience  to  an  external  law.  All  that  man  sees  has  to  do 
with  man.  Worlds  cannot  be  without  an  intermundane  relation- 
ship. The  community  of  the  centre  of  all  creation  suggests  an 
inter-radiating  connection  and  dependence  of  the  parts.  Else 
a  grander  idea  is  conceivable  than  that  which  is  already  embodied . 
The  blank,  which  is  only  a  forgotten  life  lying  behind  the  con- 
sciousness, and  the  misty  splendour,  which  is  an  undeveloped 
life  lying  before  it,  may  be  full  of  mysterious  revelations  of  other 
connections  with  the  worlds  around  us  than  those  of  science  and 
poetry.  No  shining  belt  or  gleaming  moon,  no  red  and  green 
glory  in  a  self-encircling  twin-star,  but  has  a  relation  with  the 
hidden  things  of  a  man's  soul,  and,  it  may  be,  with  the  secret 
history  of  his  body  as  well.  They  are  portions  of  the  living  house 
within  which  he  abides. 

G.    MACDONAU) 

(Phantasies). 


MORRIS  AND  OTHERS  41 

O  WEARY  time,  O  life, 
Consumed  in  endless,  useless  strife 
To  wash  from  out  the  hopeless  clay 
Of  heavy  day  and  heavy  day 
Some  specks  of  golden  love,  to  keep 
Our  hearts  from  madness  ere  we  sleep  ! 

W.  MORRIS 
(The  Earthly  Paradise). 

To  an   Australian,   a   metaphor   taken   from   alluvial  gold-mining   is 
interesting. 


(DR.  SLOP  has  been  uttering  terrible  curses  against  Obadiah) 
I  declare,  quoth  my  Uncle  Toby,  my  heart  would  not  let  me 
curse  the  devil  himself  with  so  much  bitterness. — He  is  the 
father  of  curses,  replied  Dr.  Slop. — So  am  not  I,  replied  my  uncle. 
— But  he  is  cursed  and  damned  already  to  all  eternity,  replied 
Dr.  Slop. 

I  am  sorry  for  it,  quoth  my  Uncle  Toby. 

I/AURENCE  STERNE 

(Tristram  Shandy). 


Faust.     IF  heaven  was  made  for  man,  'twas  made  for  me. 
Good   Angel.     Faustus,    repent;    yet   heaven   will   pity   thee. 
Bad  Angel.     Thou  art  a  spirit,  God  cannot  pity  thee. 
Faust.     Be  I  a  devil,  yet  God  may  pity  me. 

MARLOWE 
(Doctor  Faustus). 


BUT  fare-you-well,  Auld  Nickie-Ben  ! 
O,  wad  ye  tak  a  thought  and  men'  ! 
Ye  aiblins  might — I  dinna  ken — 

Still  hae  a  stake  : 
I'm  wae  to  think  upo'  yon  den, 

Ev'n  for  your  sake  ! 

ROBERT  BURNS 
(Address  to  the  Deil). 


42  MACDONALD— SWINBURNE 

"  SHARGAR,  what  think  ye  ?    Gin  the  deil  war  to  repent,  wad 
God  forgie  him  ?  " 

"  There's  no  sayin'  what  folk  wad  dae  till  ance  they're  tried,  ' 
returned  Shargar  cautiously. 

GEORGE  MACDONALD 
(Robert  Falconer,  ch.  xii.) 

There  is  a  passage,  I  think  in  one  of  MacDonald's  novels,  where  the  ques- 
tion is  again  put,  "  Gin  the  de'il  war  to  repent  ?  "  The  reply  is  to  the  effect, 
"  Do  not  wish  even  him  anything  so  dreadful.  The  agony  of  his  repentance 
would  be  far  worse  than  anything  he  can  suffer  in  hell." 

Scotus  Erigena,  a  very  able  Irish  theologian  and  philosopher  of  the 
9th  century,  believed  that  Satan  himself  must  ultimately  be  reclaimed, 
since  otherwise  God  could  not  in  the  end  conquer  and  extinguish  sin.  He 
cites  Origen  and  others  in  support  of  his  contention.  These  old  and  very 
serious  discussions  seem  more  remote  than  Plato,  but  the  belief  in  a 
personal  devil  was  not  uncommon  even  in  my  young  days. 


HOPE,  whose  eyes 

Can  sound  the  seas  unsoundable,  the  skies 
Inaccessible  of  eyesight ;  that  can  see 
What  earth  beholds  not,  hear  what  wind  and  sea 
Hear  not.  and  speak  what  all  these  crying  in  one 
Can  speak  not  to  the  sun. 

SWINBURNE 
(Thalassius). 


AN  EXCELENTE  BAI.ADE  OF  CHARITIE 

IN  Virgo  now  the  sultry  sun  did  sheene,  shine 

And  hot  upon  the  meads  did  cast  his  ray  ; 
The  apple  reddened  from  its  paly  green, 
And  the  soft  pear  did  bend  the  leafy  spray  ; 
The  pied  cheHndry  sang  the  livelong  day  ;         goldfinch 
'Twas  now  the  pride,  the  manhood  of  the  year, 
And  eke  the  ground  was  decked  in  its  most  deft  aumere.    apparel 

The  sun  was  gleaming  in  the  midst  of  day. 
Dead-still  the  air,  and  eke  the  welkin  blue, 
When  from  the  sea  arose  in  drear  array 


CHATTERTON  43 

A  heap  of  clouds  of  sable  sullen  hue, 
The  which  full  fast  unto  the  woodland  drew, 
Hiding  at  once  the  sunnes  festive  face, 
And  the  black  tempest  swelled,  and  gathered  up  apace. 


Beneath  a  holm,  fast  by  a  pathway-side  holm-oak 

Wlu'ch  did  unto  Saint  Godwin's  convent  lead, 
A  hapless  pilgrim  moaning  did  abide, 
Poor  in  his  view,  ungentle  in  his  weed,  clothing 

Long  brimful  of  the  miseries  of  need. 
Where  from  the  hailstorm  could  the  beggar  fly  ? 
He  had  no  houses  there,  nor  any  convent  nigh. 


Look  in  his  gloomed  face,  his  sprite  there  scan  ; 
How  woe-begone,  how  withered,  dwindled,  dead  ! 
Haste  to  thy  church-glebe-house,  accursed  man  !     grave 
Haste  to  thy  shroud,  thy  only  sleeping  bed. 
Cold  as  the  clay  which  will  grow  on    thy  head 
Are  Charity  and  Love  among  high  elves  ; 
For  knights  and  barons  live  for  pleasure  and  themselves. 


The  gathered  storm  is  ripe  ;  the  big  drops  fall, 
The  sunburnt  meadows  smoke,  and  drink  the  rain  ; 
The  coming  ghastness  doth  the  cattle  'pall,  gloom, 

And  the  full  flocks  are  driving  o'er  the  plain  ;  appal 

Dashed  from  the  clouds,  the  waters  fly  again  ; 
The  welkin  opes  ;  the  yellow  lightning  flies, 
And  the  hot  fiery  steam  in  the  wide  flashings  dies. 


List  !  now  the  thunder's  rattling  noisy  sound 
Moves  slowly  on,  and  then  full-swollen  clangs, 
Shakes  the  high  spire,  and  lost,  expended,  drowned. 
Still  on  the  frighted  ear  of  terror  hangs  ; 
The  winds  are  up  ;  the  lofty  elmtree  swangs  ;       swings 
Again  the  lightning,  and  the  thunder  pours, 
And  the  full  clouds  are  burst  at  once  in  stony  showers. 


Spurring  his  palfrey  o'er  the  watery  plain, 
The  Abbot  of  Saint  Godwin's  convent  came  ; 
His  chapournette  was  drenched  with  the  rain,    small  round 
His  painted  girdle  met  with  mickle  shame  ;  hat 

He  aynewarde  told  his  bederoll  at  the  same  ;      told  his  beads 
The  storm  increases,  and  he  drew  aside,  backwards, 

With  the  poor  alms-craver  near  to  the  holm  to  bide.    i-e-,  cursed 


44  CHATTERTON 

His  cope  was  all  of  Lincoln  cloth  so  fine, 
With  a  gold  button  fastened  near  his  chin, 
His  autremete  was  edged  with  golden  twine,  robe 

And  his  shoe's  peak  a  noble's  might  have  been  ; 
Full  well  it  shewed  he  thought  cost  no  sin. 
The  trammels  of  his  palfrey  pleased  his  sight, 
For  the  horse-milliner  his  head  with  roses  dight. 

"  An  alms,  sir  priest !  "  the  drooping  pilgrim  said. 
"  Oh  !  let  me  wait  within  your  convent-door, 
Till  the  sun  shineth  high  above  our  head, 
And  the  loud   tempest  of  the   air  is  o'er. 
Helpless  and  old  am  I,  alas  !  and  poor. 
No  house,  no  friend,  nor  money  in  my  pouch, 
All  that  I  call  my  own  is  this  my  silver  crouche."        crucifix 

"  Varlet !  "  replied  the  Abbot,  "  cease  your  din  ; 
This  is  no  season  alms  and  prayers  to  give, 
My  porter  never  lets  a  beggar  in  ; 
None  touch  my  ring  who  not  in  honour  live." 
And  now  the  sun  with  the  black  clouds  did  strive, 
And  shot  upon  the  ground  his  glaring  ray  ; 
The  abbot  spurred  his  steed,  and  eftsoons  rode  away. 

Once  more  the  sky  was  black,  the  thunder  rolled. 
Fast  running  o'er  the  plain  a  priest  was  seen  ; 
Not  dight  full  proud,  nor  buttoned  up  in  gold, 
His  cope  and  jape  were  grey,  and  eke  were  clean  ;     short  surplice 
A  lyimitor  he  was  of  order  seen  ;  Begging  Friar 

And  from  the  pathway-side  then  turned  he, 
Where  the  poor  beggar  lay  beneath  the  holmen  tree. 

"  An  alms,  sir  priest !  "  the  drooping  pilgrim  said. 
"  For  sweet  Saint  Mary  and  your  order's  sake." 
The  I^mitor  then  loosened  his  pouch-thread, 
And  did  thereout  a  groat  of  silver  take  : 
The  needy  pilgrim  did  for  gladness  shake, 
"  Here,  take  this  silver,  it  may  ease  thy  care, 
We  are  God's  stewards  all,  naught  of  our  own  we  bear. 

"  But  all !  unhappy  pilgrim,  learn  of  me. 
Scarce  any  give  a  rent-roll  to  their  lord  ; 
Here,  take  my  semicope,  thou'rt  bare,  I  see,       shoit  cloak 
'Tis  thine  ;  the  saints  will  give  me  my  reward." 
He  left  the  pilgrim,  and  his  way  aborde.       went  on  his  way 
Virgin  and  holy  Saints,  who  sit  in  gloure,  glory 

Or  give  the  mighty  will,  or  give  the  good  man  power  ! 

THOMAS  CHATTERTON  (1752-1770). 


R.  B.  BROWNING  45 

The  sun  would  conventionally  be  said  to  be  in  Virgo  in  August. 

It  is  sad  and  strange  to  think  of  the  amazing  story  of  this  child-genius, 
who  lived  in  a  world  of  romance  but  was  driven  by  destitution  to  commit 
suicide  at  seventeen  years  of  age.  The  above  was  one  of  the  "  Rowley 
forgeries,"  but,  for  the  antique  words  which  Chatterton  used  (often  incor- 
rectly) to  imitate  the  language  of  the  Fifteenth  Century,  modern  words 
have  been  substituted  where  possible. 


I  THOUGHT  once  how  Theocritus  had  sung 

Of  the  sweet  years,  the  dear  and  wished-for  years, 

Who  each  one  in  a  gracious  hand  appears 

To  bear  a  gift  for  mortals,  old  or  young  : 

And,  as  I  mused  it  in  his  antique  tongue, 

I  saw,  in  gradual  vision  through  my  tears, 

The  sweet,  sad  years,  the  melancholy  years. 

Those  of  my  own  life,  who  by  turns  had  flung 

A  shadow  across  me.     Straightway  I  was  'ware, 

So  weeping,  how  a  mystic  Shape  did  move 

Behind  me,  and  drew  me  backward  by  the  hair  ; 

And  a  voice  said  in  mastery,  while  I  strove, — 

"  Guess  now  who  holds  thee  ?  " — "  Death,"  I  said.     But  there, 

The  silver  answer  rang.—"  Not  Death,  but  lyove." 

1$.  B.  BROWNING 

(Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese}. 

This  is  the  first  of  the  chain  of  sonnets,  which  Mrs.  Browning  called 
"  Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese."  They  tell  her  own  love-story,  and  were 
written  in  secret  and  without  thought  of  publication.  Robert  Browning 
learnt  of  them  only  the  year  after  the  marriage,  and  then  insisted  on  their 
being  published.  They  include  some  of  the  finest  sonnets  in  our  language. 

To  appreciate  this  and  the  other  sonnets,  it  is  necessary  to  know 
the  beautiful  story  of  the  two  poets.  Mrs.  Browning  was  six  years  older 
than  her  husband  and  a  life-long  invalid,  expecting,  as  she  says  in  this 
sonnet,  Death  rather  than  Love.  Their  marriage  was  supremely  happy, 
and  the  great  poet,  when  in  England,  used  to  visit  the  church  in  which  they 
were  married  to  express  his  thankfulness.  He  tells  the  love-story  in  the 
next  quotation. 

In  these  sonnets  Mrs.  Browning  laid  bare  her  innermost  feelings. 

Robert  Browning,  however,  in  several  poems  says  the  privacy  of  a 
poet's  life  and  feelings  should  not  be  bared  to  the  public.  Wordsworth 
had  written  in  1827: 

Scorn  not  the  Sonnet With  this  key 

Shakespeare  unlocked  his  heart. 


46  BROWNING 

Browning  in  1876  (thirty  years  after  the  "  Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese  " 
were  written  )  wrote  in  his  poem  called  House  : 

"  With  this  same  key 

Shakespeare  unlocked  bis   bean "     .     .     .     . 
Did  Shakespeare  ?     If  so,  the  less  Shakespeare  he  ! 

Swinburne  comments  on  these  lines  :  "  No  whit  the  less  like  Shakes- 
peare, but  undoubtedly  the  less  like  Browning." 


....  COME  back  with  me  to  the  first  of  all, 
Let  us  lean  and  love  it  over  again, 

Let  us  now  forget  and  now  recall, 
Break  the  rosary  in  a  pearly  rain, 

And  gather  what  we  let  fall !  .  .  . 

Hither  we  walked  then,  side  by  side, 
Arm  in  arm  and  cheek  to  cheek, 

And   still   I    questioned   or   replied, 

While  my  heart,  convulsed  to  really  speak, 

Lay  choking  in  its  pride. 

Silent  the  crumbling  bridge  we  cross, 
And  pity  and  praise  the  chapel  sweet, 

And  care  about  the  fresco's  loss, 
And  wish  for  our  souls  a  like  retreat, 

And  wonder  at  the  moss. 

We  stoop  and  look  in  through  the  grate, 
See  the  little  porch  and  rustic  door, 

Read  duly  the  dead  builder's  date  ; 

Then  cross  the  bridge  that  we  crossed  before, 

Take  the  path  again — but  wait ! 

Oh  moment,  one  and  infinite  ! 

The  water  slips  o'er  stock  and  stone  ; 
The  West  is  tender,  hardly  bright : 

How  grey  at  once  is  the  evening  grown — 
One  star,  its  chrysolite  ! 

We  two  stood  there  with  never  a  third, 
But  each  by  each,  as  each  knew  well : 

The  sights  we  saw  and  the  sounds  we  heard, 
The  lights  and  the  shades  made  up  a  spell 

Till  the  trouble  grew  and  stirred. 


BROWNING— KINGSLEY  47 

Oh,  the  little  more,  and  how  much  it  is  ! 

And  the  little  less,  and  what  worlds  away  ! 
How  a  sound  shall  quicken  content  to  bliss, 

Or  a  breath  suspend  the  blood's  best  play, 
And  life  be  a  proof  of  this  !  .  .  . 

A  moment  after,  and  hands  unseen 

Were  hanging  the  night  around  us  fast ; 

But  we  knew  that  a  bar  was  broken  between 
L/ife  and  life  :  we  were  mixed  at  last 

In  spite  of  the  mortal  screen.  . 

How  the  world  is  made  for  each  of  us  ! 

How  all  we  perceive  and  know  in  it 
Tends  to  some  moment's  product  thus, 

When  a  soul  declares  itself — to  wit, 
By  its  fruit,  the  thing  it  does  !   .    . 

I  am  named  and  known  by  that  moment's  feat ; 

There  took  my  station  and  degree ; 
So  grew  my  own  small  life  complete, 

As  nature  obtained  her  best  of  me — 
One  born  to  love  you,  sweet ! 

And  to  watch  you  sink  by  the  fire-side  now 

Back  again,  as  you  mutely  sit 
Musing  by  fire-light,  that  great  brow 

And  the  spirit-small  hand  propping  it, 
Yonder,  my  heart  knows  how  ! 

R.  BROWNING 
(By  the  Fireside). 

The  last  verse,  describing  Mrs.  Browning,  makes  it  clear  that  the  poet 
is  speaking  of  his  own  love-story,  although  the  scene  is  imaginary.  The 
last  two  verses  are  to  be  read  literally,  as  an  expression  of  the  poet's  firm 
belief,  and  not  as  poetical  exaggeration. 


YOU  must  not  say  that  this  cannot  be,  or  that  that  is  contrary 
to  nature.  You  do  not  know  what  Nature  is,  or  what  she  can  do ; 
and  nobody  knows.  Wise  men  are  afraid  to  say  that  there  is 
anything  contrary  to  nature,  except  what  is  contrary  to  mathe- 
matical truth,  as  that  two  and  two  cannot  make  five.  There 
are  dozens  and  hundreds  of  things  in  the  world  which  we  should 


48  KINGSLEY— BAILEY 

certainly  have  said  were  contrary  to  nature,  if  we  did  not  see 
them  going  on  under  our  eyes  all  day  long.  If  people  had  never 
seen  little  seeds  grow  into  great  plants  and  trees,  of  quite  different 
shapes  from  themselves,  and  these  trees  again  produce  fresh  seeds, 
they  would  have  said,  "The  thing  cannot  be".  .  Suppose 
that  no  human  being  had  ever  seen  or  heard  of  an  elephant. 
And  suppose  that  you  described  him  to  people,  and  said,  "  This 
is  the  shape,  and  plan,  and  anatomy  of  the  beast  .  .  and  this 
is  the  section  of  his  skull,  more  like  a  mushroom  than  a  reasonable 
skull  of  a  reasonable  or  unreasonable  beast ;  yet  he  is  the  wisest 
of  all  beasts,  and  can  do  everything  save  read,  write,  and  cast 
accounts."  People  would  surely  have  said,  "Nonsense;  your 
elephant  is  contrary  to  nature,"  and  have  thought  you  were 
telling  stories — as  the  French  thought  of  Le  Vaillant  when  he  came 
back  to  Paris  and  said  that  he  had  shot  a  giraffe  ;  and  as  the 
King  of  the  Cannibal  Islands  thought  of  the  English  sailor,  when 
he  said  that  in  his  country  water  turned  to  marble,  and  rain  fell 
as  feathers.  The  truth  is  that  folks'  fancy  that  such  and  such 
things  cannot  be,  simply  because  they  have  not  seen  them, 
is  worth  no  more  than  a  savage's  fancy  that  there  cannot  be 
such  a  thing  as  a  locomotive,  because  he  never  saw  one  running 
wild  in  the  forest. 

CHARGES  KINGSI.EY  (1819-1875) 
(Water-Babies). 

This  passage  interested  us  greatly  in  the  old  days,  and  also  another 
passage  drawing  a  not  very  satisfactory  analogy  between  the  transform- 
ation of  insects  and  our  probable  transformation  at  death.  I  do  not  know 
whether  the  elephant's  brain  warrants  Kingsley's  deduction. 

This  book,  published  in  1863,*  had  a  considerable  effect  in  doing  away 
with  the  barbarous  employment  of  young  children  in  mines,  factories, 
brickfields,  etc.  It  called  attention  particularly  to  the  chimney-sweep 
boys  of  four  or  five  years  of  age  who  had  to  climb  up  the  narrow  chimneys, 
and  who  were  simply  slaves,  neglected  and  ill-treated  by  their  drunken 
masters.  We  are  apt  to  forget  how  recently  we  emerged  from  barbarism 
in  many  directions,  and  that  we  are  only  now  becoming  civilized  in  other 
respects,  as,  for  instance,  with  regard  to  the  poor,  suffering,  and  ignorant. 


THE  worst  way  to  improve  the  world 
Is  to  condemn  it. 

P.  J.  BAIUEY 

(Festus) . 

*  In  1843  Mrs.  Browning's  fine  appeal,  "The  Cry  of  the  Children,"  appeared  in 
"  Black  wood."  but  I  presume  had  little  efiect.  So  also  Hood's  "Song  of  the  Shirt," 
"  Bridge  of  Sighs,"  and  "  Song  of  the  Labourer,"  were  written  about  the  same  time, 
but  could  have  made  little  real  impression. 


ROSSETTI— TACITUS  49 

THE  DARK  GLASS 

NOT  I  myself  know  all  my  love  for  thee  : 

How  should  I  reach  so  far,  who  cannot  weigh 

To-morrow's  dower  by  gage  of  yesterday  ? 
Shall  birth  and  death,  and  all  dark  names  that  be 
As  doors  and  windows  bared  to  some  loud  sea, 

I/ash  deaf  mine  ears  and  blind  my  face  with  spray  ; 

And  shall  my  sense  pierce  love,— the  last  relay 
And  ultimate  outpost  of  eternity  ? 

Ix> !  what  am  I  to  Love,  the  lord  of  all  ? 

One  murmuring  shell  he  gathers  from  the  sand, — 
One  little  heart-flame  sheltered  in  his  hand. 
Yet  through  thine  eyes  he  grants  me  clearest  call 
And  veriest  touch  of  powers  primordial  • 

That  any  hour-girt  life  may  understand. 

D.  G.  ROSSETTI. 


y    THE  gods  are  on  the  side  of  the  strongest. 

TACITUS 
(Hist.  4,  17)- 

De  Rabutin,  Comte  de  Bussy,  said  in  1677,  "  God  is  on  the  side  of  the 
heaviest  battalions."  Voltaire  again  said,  in  1770,  that  there  are  far  more 
fools  than  wise  men,  "  and  they  say  that  God  always  favours  the  heaviest 
battalions  "  (Letter  to  Le  Riche).  Gibbon  wrote,  "  The  winds  and  waves 
are  always  on  the  side  of  the  ablest  navigators  "(Ch.  LXVIII).  (I  owe 
part  of  this  note  to  King's  Classical  and  Foreign  Quotations.) 


THE  OCTOPUS 
BY  ALGERNON  SINE  URN 

STRANGE  beauty,  eight- limbed  and  eight-handed. 

Whence  earnest  to  dazzle  our  eyes, 
With  thy  bosom  bespangled  and  banded, 

With  the  hues  of  the  seas  and  the  skies  ? 
Is  thy  name  European  or  Asian, 

Oh  mystical  monster  marine, 
Part  molluscous  and  partly  crustacean, 
Betwixt  and  between  ? 


50  HILTON 

Wast  thou  born  to  the  sound  of  sea-trumpets  ? 

Hast  thou  eaten  and  drunk  to  excess 
Of  the  sponges — thy  muffins  and  crumpets — 

Of  the  sea-weed — thy  mustard  and  cress  ? 
Wast  thou  nurtured  in  caverns  of  coral, 

Remote  from  reproof  or  restraint  ? 
Art  thou  innocent,  art  thou  immoral, 
Sinburnian  or  Saint  ? 


Lithe  limbs  curling  free  as  a  creeper, 
That  creeps  in  a  desolate  place, 

To  enrol  and  envelop  the  sleeper 
In  a  silent  and  stealthy  embrace  ; 

Cruel  beak  craning  forward  to  bite  us, 
Our  juices  to  drain  and  to  drink, 

Or  to  whelm  as  in  waves  of  Cocytus, 
Indelible  ink  ! 


Oh,  breast  that  'twere  rapture  to  writhe  on  ! 

Oh,  arms  'twere  delicious  to  feel 
Clinging  close  with  the  crush  of  the  Python, 

When  she  maketh  her  murderous  meal ! 
In  thy  eight-fold  embraces  enfolden 

Let  our  empty  existence  escape  : 
Give  us  death  that  is  glorious  and  golden, 
Crushed  all  out  of  shape  ! 

Ah,  thy  red  limbs  lascivious  and  luscious, 

With  death  in  their  amorous  kiss  ! 
Cling  round  us  and  clasp  us  and  crush  us, 

With  bitings  of  agonized  bliss  ! 
We  are  sick  with  the  poison  of  pleasure, 

Dispense  us  the  potion  of  pain ; 
Ope  thy  mouth  to  its  uttermost  measure, 
And  bite  us  again  ! 

A.  C.  HII/TON  (1851-1877) 


This  extraordinarily  clever  parody  of  Swinburne's  "  Dolores "  was 
written  by  Arthur  Clement  Hilton,  when  he  was  an  undergraduate  at 
St.  John's,  Cambridge.  It  appeared  in  The  Light  Green,  a  clever  but 
short-lived  magazine  published  in  Cambridge  in  the  early  seventies  as  a 
rival  to  The  Dark  Blue,  published  in  London  by  Oxford  men.  Hilton  was 
the  main  contributor  to  The  Light  Green.  He  died  when  only  twenty-six 
years  of  age.  This  brilliant  young  author  is  not  included  in  The 
Dictionary  of  National  Biography. 


COLERIDGE  AND  OTHERS  51 

"  The  Octopus  "  is  one  of  the  best  of  English  parodies.  I  bad  not  seen 
it  for  forty  years,  until  I  recently  found  it  in  Adam  and  White's  Parodies 
and  Imitations  (1912).  In  that  book,  although  the  authors  presumably 
had  The  Light  Green  to  print  from,  the  punctuation  is  inferior  to  that  in  my 
copy,  and  the  word  "  Dispose  "  instead  of  "  Dispense  "  in  the  third  last 
line  must  be  a  misprint. 


HE  seemed  to  me  to  be  one  of  those  men  who  have  not  very 
extended  minds,  but  who  know  what  they  know  very  well — 
shallow  streams,  and  clear  because  they  are  shallow. 

S.  T.  COLKRIDGK 
(Table   Talk}. 


TO  know  what  you  prefer,  instead  of  humbly  saying  Ameil 
to  what  the  world  tells  you  you  ought  to  prefer,  is  to  have  kept 
your  soul  alive. 

R.  ly.  STEVENSON 

( Virginibus  Puerisque) . 


TOUT  comprendre  c'est  tout  pardonner. 
(^"o  know  all  is  forgive  all.) 

FRENCH  PROVERB 

This  proverb  is  said  to  have  originated  from  a  sentence  in  Mme.  de 
de  StaeFs  Connne,  Tout  comfrendre  rend  tres-indulgent,  "  Understanding 
everything  makes  one  very  forgiving." 


THE  true  life  of  the  human  community  is  planted  deep  in  the 
private  affections  of  its  members  ;  in  the  greatness  of  its  individual 
minds  ;  in  the  pure  severities  of  its  domestic  conscience  ;  in  the 
noble  and  transforming  thoughts  that  fertilize  its  sacred  nooks. 
Who  can  observe,  without  astonishment,  the  durable  action 
of  men  truly  great  on  the  history  of  the  world,  and  the  evanes- 
cence of  vast  military  revolutions,  once  threatening  all  things 
with  destruction  ?  How  often  is  it  the  fate  of  the  former  to  be 
invisible  for  an  age,  and  then  live  for  ever  ;  of  the  latter,  to  sweep 
a  generation  from  the  earth,  and  then  vanish  with  slight  trace  ? 

JAMES  MARTINEAU 

(The  Outer  and  the  Inner  Temple}. 


52  BOREHAM— LYNCH 

Wars  seem  to  leave  little  trace  except  where  they  result  in  the  immi- 
gration and  settlement  of  a  tribe  or  nation.  Otherwise  they  appear  to  cancel 
one  another.  The  present  war  will  probably  destroy  the  only  trace  of  the 
Franco-Prussian  war,  and,  with  respect  to  Turkey,  Poland,  and  other 
countries,  will  no  doubt  cancel  the  effects  of  many  tremendous  conflicts 
of  past  centuries. 


A  CENTURY  ago  men  were  following,  with  bated  breath,  the 
march  of  Napoleon,  and  waiting  with  feverish  impatience  for  the 
latest  news  of  the  wars.  And  all  the  while,  in  their  own  homes, 
babies  were  being  born.  But  who  could  think  about  babies  }  Every- 
body was  thinking  about  battles.  In  one  year,  lying  midway 
between  Trafalgar  and  Waterloo,  there  stole  into  the  world 
a  host  of  heroes  !  During  that  one  year,  1809,  Mr.  Gladstone  was 
born  in  Liverpool ;  Alfred  Tennyson  was  born  at  the  Somersby 
rectory  ;  and  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  made  his  first  appear- 
ance in  Massachusetts.  On  the  very  self -same  day  of  that 
self -same  year  Charles  Darwin  made  his  debut  at  Shrewsbury, 
and  Abraham  Lincoln  drew  his  first  breath  in  old  Kentucky. 
Music  was  enriched  by  the  advent  of  Frederic  Chopin  at  Warsaw, 
and  of  Felix  Mendelssohn  at  Hamburg.  Within  the  same  year, 
too,  Samuel  Morley  was  born  in  Homerton,  Edward  Fitzgerald 
in  Woodbridge,  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning  in  Durham,  and 
Frances  Kemble  in  London.  But  nobody  thought  of  babies. 
Everybody  was  thinking  of  battles.  Yet,  viewing  that  age  in  the 
truer  perspective  which  the  distance  of  a  hundred  years  enables 
us  to  command,  we  may  well  ask  ourselves,  "  Which  of  the  battles 
of  1809  mattered  more  than  the  babies  of  1809  ?  "  .  . 

We  fancy  that  God  can  only  manage  His  world  by  big  bat- 
talions abroad,  when  all  the  while  He  is  doing  it  by  beautiful 
babies  at  home.  When  a  wrong  wants  righting,  or  a  truth  wants 
preaching,  or  a  continent  wants  opening,  God  sends  a  baby  into 
the  world  to  do  it.  That  is  why,  long,  long  ago,  a  babe  was  born 
in  Bethlehem. 

FRANK  W.  BOREHAM 
(Mountains  in  the  Mist). 


REINFORCEMENTS 

WHEN  little  boys  with  merry  noise 
In  the  meadows  shout  and  run  ; 

And  little  girls,  sweet  woman  buds, 
Brightly  open  in  the  sun  ; 


LYNCH— MARSTON  53 

I  may  not  of  the  world  despair, 

Our  God  despaireth  not,  I  see  ; 
For  blithesomer  in  Eden's  air 

These  lads  and  maidens  could  not  be. 

Why  were  they  born,  if  Hope  must  die  ? 

Wherefore  this  health,  if  Truth  should  fail  ? 
And  why  such  Joy,  if  Misery 

Be  conquering  us  and  must  prevail  ? 
Arouse  !   our  spirit  may  not  droop  ! 

These  young  ones  fresh  from  Heaven  are  ; 
Our  God  hath  sent  another  troop. 

And  means  to  carry  on  the  war. 

THOMAS  TOKE  LYNCH  (1818-1871). 


O  WIND,  a  word  with  you  before  you  pass  ; 
What  did  you  to  the  Rose  that  on  the  grass 
Broken  she  lies  and  pale,  who  loved  you  so  ? 

THE  WIND 
Roses  must  live  and  love,  and  winds  must  blow. 

PHIUP   BOURKE  MARSTON 
(The  Rose  and  the  Wind) . 


WHAT  OF  THE  DARKNESS  ? 

WHAT  of  the  Darkness  ?     Is  it  very  fair  ? 
Are  there  great  calms,  and  find  ye  silence  there  ? 
lyike  soft-shut  lilies  all  your  faces  glow 
With  some  strange  peace  our  faces  never  know, 
With  some  great  faith  our  faces  never  dare  : 
Dwells  it  in  Darkness  ?     Do  ye  find  it  there  ? 

Is  it  a  Bosom  where  tired  heads  may  lie  ? 
Is  it  a  Mouth  to  kiss  our  weeping  dry  ? 
Is  it  a  Hand  to  still  the  pulse's  leap  ? 
Is  it  a  Voice  that  holds  the  runes  of  sleep  ? 
Day  shows  us  not  such  comfort  anywhere  : 
Dwells  it  in  Darkness  ?     Do  ye  find  it  there  ? 


54  IyE  GALLIENNE  AND  OTHERS 

Out  of  the  Day's  deceiving  light  we  call, 

Day,  that  shows  man  so  great  and  God  so  small. 

That  hides  the  stars  and  magnifies  the  grass  ; 

O  is  the  Darkness  too  a  lying  glass 

Or,  undistracted,  do  ye  find  truth  there  ? 

What  of  the  Darkness  ?     Is  it  very  fair  ? 

R.  LE  GAUJENNK. 

These  lines  were  written  of  the  blind,  but  become  even  more  beautiful 
and  true  if  applied  to  a  different  subject,  the  dead. 


CONTINUING  the  work  of  creation,  i.e.,  co-operating  as  instru- 
ments of  Providence  in  bringing  order  out  of  disorder  ...  is 
only  a  part  of  the  mission  of  mankind,  and  the  time  will  come 
again  when  its  due  rank  will  be  assigned  to  contemplation  and 
the  calm  culture  of  reverence  and  love.  Then  poetry  will  resume 
her  equality  with  prose.  ...  But  that  time  is  not  yet,  and  the 
crowning  glory  of  Wordsworth  is  that  he  has  borne  witness  to 
it  and  kept  alive  its  traditions  in  an  age,  which,  but  for  him, 
would  have  lost  sight  of  it  entirely. 

J.  S.  Mnj, 

In  that  utilitarian  period  the  figure  of  the  great  poet  stands  out  in  sheer 
sublimity.  *Apart  from  the  depressing  atmosphere  of  the  time,  one  needs 
to  remember  how  serenely  he  continued  to  deliver  his  high  message  in 
spite  of  the  most  deadly  want  of  appreciation.  At  thirty  he  received 
£  10  from  his  poems  and  nothing  more  until  he  was  sixty-five  !  The 
quotation  is  from  a  letter  in  Caroline  Fox'g  Journals. 


MY  sarcastic  friend  says,  with  the  utmost  gravity,  that  no 
man  with  less  than  a  thousand  pounds  a  year  can  afford  to  have 
private  opinions  upon  certain  important  subjects.  He  admits 
that  he  has  known  it  done  upon  eight  hundred  a  year  ;  but  only 
by  very  prudent  people  with  small  families. 

SIR  A.  HEI<PS 
(Companions  of  my  Solitude) 


'TIS  an  old  theme,  this  Divine  Love,  and  it  cannot  be  exhausted. 
Men  have  not  outlived  it,  angels  cannot  outlearn  it.  It  swayed 
the  ancientworld  by  m  any  a  fair  god  and  goddess  ;  its  light  has 
been  cast  over  ages  of  Christian  controversy  and  warfare  ;  it  is 
still  the  guiding  Star  of  the  Sea  to  each  voyager  after  the  nobler 


CONWAY— KEBLE  55 

faith.  The  youth  leaves  the  old  shore  of  belief,  only  because 
love  has  left  it.  His  starved  affections  will  no  longer  accept 
stone,  though  pulverized  flour-like  and  artfully  kneaded,  for 
bread.  Their  white  sails  fill  the  purple  and  the  sombre  seas, 
and  they  hail  each  other  to  ask  for  the  summer-land,  where  faith 
climbs  to  beauty,  and  the  lost  bowers  of  childhood's  trust  may 
be  found  again. 

MONCURE  DANIEI,  CONWAY  (1832-1907). 

This  fine  writer  was  a   Unitarian  minister,  but  afterwards  became  a 
"  Free-thinker." 


THERE  are  in  this  loud  stunning  tide 

Of  human  care  and  crime, 
With  whom  the  melodies  abide 

Of  th'  everlasting  chime  ; 
Who  carry  music  in  their  heart 

Through  dusky  lane  and  wrangling  mart. 
Plying  their  daily  task  with  busier  feet, 
Because  their  secret  souls  a  holy  strain  repeat. 

JOHN  KEBI,E 
(The  Christian  Year,  "  St.  Matthew.") 


THE  DARK  COMPANION 

THERE  is  an  orb  that  mocked  the  lore  of  sages 
I/ong  time  with  mystery  of  strange  unrest ; 

The  steadfast  law  that  rounds  the  starry  ages 
Gave  doubtful  token  of  supreme  behest ; 

But  they  who  knew  the  ways  of  God  unchanging, 
Concluded  some  far  influence  unseen — 

Some  kindred  sphere  through  viewless  others  ranging, 
Whose  strong  persuasions  spanned  the  void  between 

And  knowing  it  alone  through  perturbation 

And  vague  disquiet  of  another  star, 
They  named  it,  till  the  day  of  revelation, 

"  The  Dark  Companion  " — darkly  guessed  afar. 


56  STEPHENS 

But  when,  through  new  perfection  of  appliance, 
Faith  merged  at  length  in  undisputed  sight, 

The  mystic  mover  was  revealed  to  science, 
No  Dark  Companion,  but — a  speck  of  light  : 

No  Dark  Companion,  but  a  sun  of  glory  : 
No  fell  disturber,  but  a  bright  compeer  : 

The  shining  complement  that  crowned  the  story  : 
The  golden  link  that  made  the  meaning  clear. 

Oh,  Dark  Companion,  journeying  ever  by  us, 
Oh,  grim  Perturber  of  our  works  and  ways, 

Oh,  potent  Dread,  unseen,  yet  ever  nigh  us, 
Disquieting  all  the  tenor  of  our  days — 

Oh,  Dark  Companion,  Death,  whose  wide  embraces 
O'ertake  remotest  change  of  clime  and  skies — 

Oh,  Dark  Companion,  Death,  whose  grievous  traces 
Are  scattered  shreds  of  riven  enterprise — 

Thou,  too,  in  this  wise,  when,  our  eyes  unsealing, 
The  clearer  day  shall  change  our  faith  to  sight, 

Shalt  show  thyself,  in  that  supreme  revealing, 
No  Dark  Companion,  but  a  thing  of  light : 

No  ruthless  wrecker  of  harmonious  order  : 
No  alien  heart  of  discord  and  caprice  : 

A  beckoning  light  upon  the  Blissful  Border  : 
A  kindred  element  of  law  and  peace. 

So,  too,  our  strange  unrest  in  this  our  dwelling, 
The  trembling  that  thou  joinest  with  our  mirth, 

Are  by  thy  magnet-communings  compelling 
Our  spirits  farther  from  the  scope  of  earth. 

So,  doubtless,  when  beneath  thy  potence  swerving. 

'Tis  that  thou  lead'st  us  by  a  path  unknown, 
Our  seeming  deviations  all  subserving 

The  perfect  orbit  round  the  central  throne. 


The  night  wind  moans.     The  Austral  wilds  are  round  me. 

The  loved  who  live — ah,  God  !  how  few  they  are  ! 
I  looked  above  ;  and  Heaven  in  mercy  found  me 

This  parable  of  comfort  in  a  star. 

J.  BRUNTON  STEPHENS 

(Convict  Once  and  other  Poems) 


57 

The  "  Dark  Companion  "  is  no  doubt  the  star  known  as  the  "  Com- 
panion of  Sinus."  Certain  peculiarities  in  the  motion  of  Sirius  led  Bessel 
in  1844  to  the  belief  that  it  had  an  obscure  companion,  with  which  it  wat 
in  revolution.  The  position  of  the  companion  having  been  ascertained 
by  calculation,  it  was  at  last  found  in  1862.  It  is  equal  in  mass  to  our  sun 
but  is  obscured  by  the  brilliancy  of  Sirius,  which  is  the  brightest  of  the  fixed 
stars.  Brunton  Stephens'  poem  was  published  in  Melbourne  in  1873. 


SEQUEL  TO  " 
"  When  and  where  shall  1  earliest  meet  her"  etc. 

YES,  but  the  years  run  circling  fleeter, 
Ever  they  pass  me — I  watch,  I  wait — 

Ever  I  dream,  and  awake  to  meet  her  ; 
She  cometh  never,  or  comes  too  late, 

Should  I  press  on  ?  for  the  day  grows  shorter — 
Ought  I  to  linger  ?  the  far  end  nears ; 

Ever  ahead  have  I  looked,  and  sought  her 
On  the  bright  sky-line  of  the  gathering  years. 

Now  that  the  shadows  are  eastward  sloping, 
As  I  screen  mine  eyes  from  the  slanting  sun, 

Cometh  a  thought — It  is  past  all  hoping, 
Look  not  ahead,  she  is  missed  and  gone. 

Here  on  the  ridge  of  my  upward  travel, 

Ere  the  life-line  dips  to  the  darkening  vales, 

vSadly  I  turn,  and  would  fain  unravel 

The  entangled  maze  of  a  search  that  fails. 

When  and  where  have  I  seen  and  passed  her  ? 

What  are  the  words  I  forgot  to  say  ? 
Should  we  have  met  had  a  boat  rowed  faster  ? 

Should  we  have  loved,  had  I  stayed  that  day  ? 

Was  it  her  face  that  I  saw,  and  started, 
Gliding  away  in  a  train  that  crossed  ? 

Was  it  her  form  that  I  once,  faint-hearted, 
Followed  awhile  in  a  crowd  and  lost  ? 

Was  it  there  she  lived,  when  the  train  went  sweeping 
Under  the  moon  through  the  landscape  hushed  ? 

Somebody  called  me,  I  woke  from  sleeping, 
Saw  but  a  hamlet — and  on  we  rushed. 


58  I,YALL— C.  ROSSETTI 

I/isten  and  linger — She  yet  may  find  me 
In  the  last  faint  flush  of  the  waning  light — 

Never  a  step  on  the  path  behind  me  ; 
I  must  journey  alone,  to  the  lonely  night. 

But  is  there  somewhere  on  earth,  I  wonder, 
A  fading  figure,  with  eyes  that  wait, 

Who  says,  as  she  stands  in  the  distance  yonder 
"  He  cometh  never,  or  comes  too  late  ?  " 

SIR  ALFRED 


TOO  late  for  love,  too  late  for  joy, 

Too  late,  too  late  ! 
You  loitered  on  the  road  too  long, 

You  trifled  at  the  gate  : 
The  enchanted  dove  upon  her  branch 

Died  without  a  mate  ; 
The  enchanted  princess  in  her  tower 

Slept,  died,  behind  the  grate  ; 
Her  heart  was  starving  all  this  while 

You  made  it  wait. 

Ten  years  ago,  five  years  ago, 

One  year  ago, 
Even  then  you  had  arrived  in  time, 

Though  somewhat  slow ; 
Then  you  had  known  her  living  face 

Which  now  you  cannot  know  : 
The  frozen  fountain  would  have  leaped, 

The  buds  gone  on  to  blow, 
The  warm  south  wind  would  have  awaked 

To  melt  the  snow. 

CHRISTINA  ROSSETTI 

(The  Prince's  Progress). 


WHERE  waitest  thou, 
Lady  I  am  to  love  ?     Thou  comest  not ! 
Thou  knowest  of  my  sad  and  lonely  lot ; 

I  looked  for  thee  ere  now  !  . 


ARNOLD  AND  OTHERS  59 

Where  art  thou,  sweet  ? 
I  long  for  thee,  as  thirsty  lips  for  streams  ! 
Oh,  gentle  promised  Angel  of  my  dreams, 

Why  do  we  never  meet  ? 

Thou  art  as  I, — 

Thy  soul  doth  wait  for  mine,  as  mine  for  thee  ; 
We  cannot  live  apart ;  must  meeting  be 
Never  before  we  die  .  .  ? 

SIR  EDWIN  ARNOLD 
(A  Ma  Future). 


MILD  is  the  parting  year,  and  sweet 

The  odour  of  the  falling  spray  ; 
Life  passes  on  more  rudely  fleet, 

And  balmless  is  its  closing  day. 

I  wait  its  close,  I  court  its  gloom, 
But  mourn  that  never  must  there  fall 

Or  on  my  breast  or  on  my  tomb 

The  tear  that  would  have  sooth'd  it  all. 

W.  S.  LANDOR. 


THE  devil  has  made  the  stuff  of  our  life  and  God  makes  the 
hem. 

VICTOR  HUGO 

(By  the  King's  Command). 


I  THINK,  I  said,  I  can  make  it  plain  that  there  are  at  least 
six  personalities  distinctly  to  be  recognized  as  taking  part  in  a 
dialogue  between  John  and  Thomas. 

Three  Johns  :  The  real  John — known  only  to  his  Maker. 
John's  ideal  John — never  the  real  one,  and  often  very 
unlike  him.  Thomas's  ideal  John — never  the  real  John, 
nor  John's  John,  but  often  very  unlike  either. 


60  HOLMES—  MORRIS 

Three  Thomases  :  The  real  Thomas.  Thomas's  ideal  Thomas. 
John's  ideal  Thomas. 

Only  one  of  the  three  Johns  is  taxed  ;  only  one  can  be  weighed 
on  a  platform  balance  ;  but  the  other  two  are  just  as  important 
in  the  conversation.  Let  us  suppose  the  real  John  to  be  old, 
dull,  and  ill-looking.  But  as  the  Higher  Powers  have  not  con- 
ferred on  men  the  gift  of  seeing  themselves  in  the  true  light, 
John  very  possibly  conceives  himself  to  be  youthful,  witty, 
and  fascinating,  and  talks  from  the  point  of  view  of  this  ideal. 
Thomas,  again,  believes  him  to  be  an  artful  rogue,  we  will  say  ; 
therefore  he  is,  so  far  as  Thomas's  attitude  in  the  conversation 
is  concerned,  an  artful  rogue,  though  really  simple  and  stupid. 
The  same  conditions  apply  to  the  three  Thomases.  It  follows 
that,  until  a  man  can  be  found  who  knows  himself  as  his  Maker 
knows  him,  or  who  sees  himself  as  others  see  him,  there  must  be 
at  least  six  persons  engaged  in  every  dialogue  between  two. 
Of  these  the  least  important,  philosophically  speaking,  is  the  one 
that  we  have  called  the  real  person.  No  wonder  two  disputants 
often  get  angry,  when  there  are  six  of  them  talking  and  listening 
all  at  the  same  time. 

(A  very  unphilosophical  application  of  the  above  remarks 
was  made  by  a  young  fellow,  answering  to  the  name  of  John, 
who  sits  near  me  at  table.  A  certain  basket  of  peaches,  a  rare 
vegetable  little  known  to  boarding-houses,  was  on  its  way  to  me 
via  this  unlettered  Johannes.  He  appropriated  the  three  that 
remained  in  the  basket,  remarking  that  there  was  just  one 
apiece  for  him.  I  convinced  him  that  his  practical  inference 
was  hasty  and  illogical,  but  in  the  meantime  he  had  eaten  the 
peaches.) 

O.  W. 


(Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table) 


aweary  of  your  mirth, 
From  full  hearts  still  unsatisfied  ye  sigh, 
And,  feeling  kindly  unto  all  the  earth, 
Grudge  every  minute  as  it  passes  by, 
Made  the  more  mindful  that  the  sweet  days  die — 
Remember  me  a  little  then,  I  pray, 
The  idle  singer  of  an  empty  day. 

W.  MORRIS 

(The  Earthly  Paradise). 


DONNE  6 1 

A  HYMN  TO  GOD  THE  FATHER. 

WII/r  Thou  forgive  that  sin  where  I  begun, 

Which  was  my  sin,  though  it  were  done  before  ? 
Wilt  Thou  forgive  that  sin,  through  which  I  run, 
And  do  run  still,  though  still  I  do  deplore  ? — 
When  Thou  hast  done,  Thou  hast  not  done  ; 
For  I  have  more. 

Wilt  Thou  forgive  that  sin  which  I  have  won 

Others  to  sin,  and  made  my  sins  their  door  ? 
Wilt  Thou  forgive  that  sin  which  I  did  shun 
A  year  or  two,  but  wallowed  in  a  score  ? — 
When  Thou  hast  done,  Thou  hast  not  done  ; 
For  I  have  more. 

I  have  a  sin  of  fear,  that  when  I've  spun 

My  last  thread,  I  shall  perish  on  the  shore  ; 
But  swear  by  Thyself,  that  at  my  death  Thy  Son 
Shall  shine,  as  He  Shines  now  and  heretofore  ; 
And  having  done  that,  Thou  hast  done  : 
I  fear  no  more. 

JOHN  DONNE  (1573-1631). 


In  line  (i)  the  reference  is  to  the  old  doctrine  that  the  guilt  of  Adam 
and  Eve's  "  original  sin  "  tainted  all  generations  of  man  ;  (3)  "  run,"  ran; 
(8)  his  sin — the  example  he  has  set — is  the  door  which  opened  to  others 
the  way  of  sin. 

In  this  fine  poem  there  are  puns.  In  the  last  verse  one  pun  is  on  the 
words  "  Son  "  and  "  Sun,"  Christ  being  the  "  Sun  of  righteousness  who 
arises  with  healing  in  his  wings  "(Malacbi  iv,  2).  Also  in  the  fifth,  eleventh,  and 
seventeenth  lines,  the  play  is  on  the  last  word  "  done  "  and  the  poet's  name 
Donne,  which  was  pronounced  dun.*  (It  was  occasionlly  written  Dun,  Dunne, 
or  Done  :  see  Grierson's  Poems  of  John  Donne,  Vol.  II,  pp.  Ivii,  Ixxvii, 
Ixxxvii,  8  and  12.  Contrariwise,  the  adjective  "  dun,"  dull-brown, 
was  spelt  donne  in  the  poet's  time.)  We  are  accustomed  only  to  the  jocular 
use  of  puns,  but  here  there  is  a  serious  intention  to  give  two  meanings  to 
one  expression.  Such  a  use  of  puns  was  one  of  the  "  quaint  conceits  " 
of  that  period  of  our  literature,  and  it  is  found  also  in  serious  Persian  poetry. 

*  The  family  name  is  now  apparently  pronounced  as  it  is  spelt  (see  "  An  English 
Pronouncing  Dictionary,"  by  Daniel  Jones,  and  the  "  Century  "  and  "  Webster  ").  Such 
a  change  must  often  happen.  I  have  cousins  named  Colclough,  who  in  Australia  became 
so  tired  of  correcting  people  that  they  finally  resigned  themselves  to  the  loss  of  the  old 
pronunciation  "  Cokely  "  and  accepted  the  less  euphonious  "  Colclo." 


62  THACKERAY — ELIOT 

VERY  likely  female  pelicans  like  so  to  bleed  under  the  selfish 
little  beaks  of  their  young  ones  :  it  is  certain  that  women  do. 
There  must  be  some  sort  of  pleasure,  which  we  men  don't  under- 
stand, which  accompanies  the  pain  of  being  scarified. 

THACKERAY 
(Pendennis) . 


i 


THE  golden  moments  in  the  stream  of  life  rush  past  us,  and  we 
see  nothing  but  sand  ;  the  angels  come  to  visit  us,  and  we  only 
know  them  when  they  are  gone. 

GEORGE  Euox 
(Felix  Holt}. 


LET  IT  BE  THERE. 

NOT   there,    not   there ! 
Not  in  that  nook,  that  ye  deem  so  fair ; — 
Little  reck  I  of  the  bright,  blue  sky, 
And  the  stream  that  floweth  so  munnuringly, 
And  the  bending  boughs,  and  the  breezy  air — 

Not  there,  good  friends,  not  there  ! 

In  the  city  churchyard,  where  the  grass 
Groweth  rank  and  black,  and  where  never  a  ray 
Of  that  self-same  sun  doth  find  its  way 
Through  the  heaped-up  houses'  serried  mass — 
Where  the  only  sounds  are  the  voice  of  the  throng, 
And  the  clatter  of  wheels  as  they  rush  along — 
Or  the  plash  of  the  rain,  or  the  wind's  hoarse  cry, 
Or  the  busy  tramp  of  the  passer-by, 
Or  the  toll  of  the  bell  on  the  heavy  air — 
Good  friends,  let  it  be  there  ! 

I  am  old,  my  friends — I  am  very  old — 
Fdurscore    and    five — and    bitter    cold 
Were  that  air  on  the  hill-side  far  away  ; 
Eighty  full  years,  content,  I  trow, 
Have  I  lived  in  the  home  where  ye  see  me  now, 
And  trod  those  dark  streets  "day  by  day, 
Till  my  soul  doth  love  them  ;  I  love  them  all, 
Each  battered  pavement,  and  blackened  wall, 
Each  court  and  corner.    Good  sooth !  to  me 
They  are  all  comely  and  fair  to  see — 


WESTWOOD  AND  OTHERS  63 

They  have  old  faces — each  one  doth  tell 
A  tale  of  its  own,  that  doth  Like  me  well, 
Sad  or  merry,  as  it  may  be, 
From  the  quaint  old  book  of  my  history. 
And,  friends,  when  this  weary  pain  is  past, 
Fain  would  I  lay  me  to  rest  at  last 
In  their  very  midst ;  full  sure  am  I, 
How  dark  soever  be  earth  and  sky, 
I  shall  sleep  softly — I  shall  know 
That  the  things  I  loved  so  here  below 
Are  about  me  still — so  never  care 
That  my  last  home  looketh  all  bleak  and  bare — 
Good  friends,  let  it  be  there  I 

THOMAS  WESTWOOD  (1814-1888). 


EVERY  man  hath  his  gift,  one  a  cup  of  wine,  another  heart's 
blood. 

HAFIZ 


Some  poets  sing  of  wine  or  sensuous  enjoyment,  but  Hafiz  pours  out  his 
heart's  blood  in  song.  Presumably  wine  and  blood  are  contrasted  because 
of  their  similar  appearance. 


THE  devil  could  drive  woman  out  of  Paradise  ;  but  the  devil 
himself  cannot  drive  the  Paradise  out  of  a  woman. 

G.   MACDONAIJ) 

(Robert  Falconer). 

THE  PUUvEY 

WHEN  God  at  first  made  man, 
Having  a  glass  of  blessings  standing  by, 
"  Let  us,"  said  He,  "  pour  on  him  all  we  can  ; 
I^et  the  world's  riches,  which  dispersed  lie, 

Contract  into  a  span." 

So  strength  first  made  a  way, 

Then  beauty  flowed,  then  wisdom,  honour,  pleasure  ; 
When  almost  all  was  out,  God  made  a  stay, 
Perceiving  that,  alone  of  all  His  treasure, 

Rest  in  the  bottom  lay. 


64  HERBERT— TYNDALT, 

"  For  if  I  should,"  said  He, 
"  Bestow  this  jewel  also  on  My  creature, 
He  would  adore  My  gifts  instead  of  Me, 
And  rest  in  Nature,  not  the  God  of  Nature  : 
So  both  should  losers  be. 

"  Yet  let  him  keep  the  rest, 
But  keep  them  with  repining  restlessness  ; 
Let  him  be  rich  and  weary,  that  at  least, 
If  goodness  lead  him  not,  yet  weariness 

May  toss  him  to  My  breast." 

GEORGE  HERBERT  (1593-1633). 

"  The  Pulley  "  because  by  the  desire  for  rest  after  toil  and  tribulation 
God  draws  man  up  to  Himself. 


(DARWIN'S  Origin  of  Species  was  published  in  November,  1859.) 
At  the  Oxford  meeting  of  the  British  Association  in  1 860  Huxley 
had  on  Thursday,  June  28,  directly  contradicted  Professor 
Owen's  statement  that  a  gorilla's  brain  differed  more  from  a 
man's  than  it  did  from  the  brain  of  the  lowest  of  the  Quadrumana 
(apes,  monkeys,  and  lemurs).  He  was  thus  marked  out  as  the 
champion  of  evolution.  On  the  Saturday,  although  the  public 
were  not  admitted,  the  members  crowded  the  room  to  suffocation, 
anxious  to  hear  the  brilliant  controversialist,  Bishop  Wilberforce. 
take  part  in  the  debate.  An  unimportant  paper  was  read 
bearing  upon  Darwinism,  and  a  discussion  followed.  The  Bishop, 
inspired  by  Owen,  began  his  speech.  He  spoke  in  dulcet  tones, 
persuasive  manner,  and  with  well-turned  periods,  but  ridiculing 
Darwin  badly  and  Huxley  savagely.  "  In  a  light,  scoffing 
tone,  florid  and  fluent,  he  assured  us  there  was  nothing  in  the 
idea  of  evolution  :  rock-pigeons  were  what  rock-pigeons  had 
always  been.  Then,  turning  to  Huxley,  with  a  smiling  insolence, 
he  begged  to  know,  was  it  through  his  grandfather  or  his  grand- 
mother that  he  claimed  his  descent  from  a  monkey." 

As  he  said  this,  Huxley  turned  to  his  neighbour  and  said, 
"  The  Lord  hath  delivered  him  into  mine  hands  !  "  On  rising 
to  speak,  he  first  gave  a  forcible  and  eloquent  reply  to  the  scientific 
part  of  the  Bishop's  argument.  Then  "  he  stood  before  us  and 
spoke  those  tremendous  words — words,  which  no  one  seems  sure 
of  now,  nor,  I  think,  could  remember  just  after  they  were  spoken, 
for  their  meaning  took  away  our  breath,  though  it  left  us  in  no 
doubt  as  to  what  it  was.  "  He  was  not  ashamed  to  have  a  mon- 
key for  his  ancestor  :  but  he  would  be  ashamed  to  be  connected 
with  a  man  who  used  great  gifts  to  obscure  the  truth."  No  on 


TYNDAIyt  65 

doubted  his  meaning,  and  the  effect  was  tremendous.  One 
lady  fainted  and  had  to  be  carried  out ;  I,  for  one,  jumped  out 
of  my  seat."  (Macmillan's,  1898.)  There  is  no  verbatim 
report  of  this  incident,  but  the  varying  accounts  agree  in  outline. 
(Extracted  from  Life  of  Huxley) 

One  object  of  this  book  is  to  bring  back  the  memories  of  the  seventy- 
eighties — and  of  overwhelming  interest  at  the  time  was  the  alleged  conflict 
between  religion  and  science.  Through  Darwin's  great  discovery  and 
Herbert  Spencer's  world-wide  extension  of  the  evolution  theory,  so  much 
was  found  covered  by  law  that  men  were  blinded  to  the  fact  that  the  essential 
question  of  causality,  lying  behind  all  law,  was  still  untouched. 

The  important  and  thrilling  incident  referred  to  above  took  place 
in  1860,  when  I  was  two  years  old,  but  it  was  still  an  absorbing  topic  thirteen 
or  fourteen  years  later,  and  is  one  of  my  most  vivid  recollections. 

Wilberforce  (1805-1873)  was  a  great  Churchman  and,  indeed,  has 
been  said  to  be  the  greatest  prelate  of  his  age,  although  his  nickname 
"  Soapy  Sam  "  led  to  a  popular  depreciation  of  his  merits.  (This  epithet 
originally  meant  that  he  was  evasive  on  certain  questions,  but  it  took  a 
further  meaning  from  his  persuasive  eloquence.)  In  this  instance  he  meddled 
with  a  subject  of  which  he  was  ignorant.  Owen,  who  instigated  him  to 
make  this  attack  on  Darwin  and  Huxley  had  at  first  welcomed  the  theory 
of  evolution,  but  quailed  before  the  orthodox  indignation  against  the  neces- 
sary extension  of  that  theory  to  the  origin  of  man.  Huxley  (1825-1895) 
was  thirty-five  years  of  age  when  he  thus  showed  himself  a  strong  debater 
and  a  power  in  the  scientific  world. 


ON  tracing  the  line  of  life  backwards,  we  see  it  approaching 
more  and  more  to  what  we  call  the  purely  physical  condition. 
We  come  at  length  to  those  organisms  which  I  have  compared 
to  drops  of  oil  suspended  in  a  mixture  of  alcohol  and  water.  We 
reach  the  protogenes  of  Haeckel,  in  which  we  have  "  a  type 
distinguishable  from  a  fragment  of  albumen  only  by  its  finely 
granular  character."  Can  we  pause  here  ?  We  break  a  magnet 
and  find  two  poles  in  each  of  its  fragments.  We  continue  the 
process  of  breaking  ;  but  however  small  the  parts,  each  carries 
with  it,  though  enfeebled,  the  polarity  of  the  whole.  And  when 
we  can  break  no  longer,  we  prolong  the  intellectual  vision  to  the 
polar  molecules.  Are  we  not  urged  to  do  something  similar 
in  the  case  of  life  ?  .  .  Believing,  as  I  do,  in  the  continuity  of 
nature,  I  cannot  stop  abruptly  where  our  microscopes  cease  to 
be  of  use.  Here  the  vision  of  the  mind  authoritatively  supple- 
ments the  vision  of  the  eye.  By  a  necessity  engendered  and 
justified  by  science  I  cross  the  boundary  of  the  experimental 
evidence,  and  discern  in  that  Matter  which  we,  in  our  ignorance 
of  its  latent  powers,  and  notwithstanding  our  professed  reverence 
for  its  Creator,  have  hitherto  covered  with  opprobrium,  the 
promise  and  potency  of  all  terrestrial  Life. 

i 


66  TYNDALL— SAYCE 

(REFERRING  to  the  question  of  inquiring  into  the  mystery 
of  our  origin) .  Here,  however,  I  touch  a  theme  too  great  for  me 
to  handle,  but  which  will  assuredly  be  handled  by  the  loftiest 
minds,  when  you  and  I,  like  streaks  of  morning  cloud,  shall  have 
melted  into  the  infinite  azure  of  the  past. 

JOHN  TYNDAI,!,. 
The  italics  are  mine. 

As  in  the  preceding  quotation  the  subject  is  the  alleged  conflict  between 
religion  and  science,  which  occupied  so  large  a  space  in  our  life  and  thought 
in  the  seventies  and  eighties.  The  above  are  the  two  passages  from  Tynd- 
all's  presidential  address  at  the  Belfast  meeting  of  the  British  Association 
in  1874,  which  caused  an  immense  sensation.  The  Belfast  Address,  like 
Huxley's  smashing  reply  to  Bishop  Wilberforce,  was  useful  in  showing 
that  all  scientific  questions  must  be  considered  with  an  open  mind,  free  of 
theological  bias,  and  also  in  adding  testimony  to  the  importance  and  value 
of  Darwin's  investigation.  Although  fifteen  years  had  passed  since  The 
Origin  of  Species  was  published,  this  was  still  necessary.  (At  that  very 
time  Professor  McCoy,  afterwards  Sir  Frederick  McCoy,  F.R.S.,  when 
lecturing  at  the  Melbourne  University  to  his  students,  of  whom  I  was  one, 
was  still  making  inane  jokes  about  evolution  and  our  monkey  cousins.) 

But,  while  the  world  was  in  ferment  over  the  question  of  man's  alleged 
kinship  with  the  monkey,  there  came  the  further  startling  fact  that  the 
President  of  the  British  Association  also  proclaimed  his  belief  in  materialism 
and,  inferentially,  that  there  was  no  life  after  death.  Englishmen  had  not 
before  realized  how  widely  materialism  had  spread  through  England  and 
Europe.  I  do  not  think  it  is  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  a  majority  at  least 
of  the  leading  thinkers  had  become  materialists. 

In  travelling  outside  science  into  metaphysics,  Tyndall  betrayed 
a  lamentable  ignorance  of  the  latter — a  parallel  case  to  that  of  Bishop 
Wilberforce  when  he  attempted  to  meddle  with  science.  Martineau, 
referring  to  the  first  quotation  above,  wrote  :  "  There  is  no  magic  in  the 
superlatively  little  to  draw  from  the  universe  its  last  secret.  Size  is  but 
relative,  magnified  or  dwindled  by  a  glass,  variable  with  the  organ  of  per- 
ception :  to  one  being,  the  speck  which  only  the  microscope  can  show  us 
may  be  a  universe ;  to  another,  the  solar  system  but  a  molecule ;  and  in 
the  passing  from  the  latter  to  the  former  you  reach  no  end  of  search  or 
beginning  of  things.  You  merely  substitute  a  miniature  of  nature  for  its 
life-size  without  at  all  showing  whence  the  features  arise." 


THE  NEW  GOSPEL 
HAECKELIUS  loquitur  : 

The  ages  have  passed  and  come  with  the  beat  of  a  measureless 

tread 

And  piled  up  their  palace-dome  on  the  dust  of  the  ageless  dead. 
Since  the  atom  of  life  first  glowed  in  the  breast  of  eternal  time, 
And  shaped  for  itself  its  abode  in  the  womb  of  the  shapeless 

slime; 


SAYCE  67 

And  the  years  matured  its  form  with  slow,  unwearying  toil. 
Moulded  by  sun  and  storm,  and  rich  with  the  centuries'  spoil, 
Till  the  face  of  the  earth  was  fair,  and  life  grew  up  into  mind, 
And  breathed  its  earliest  prayer  to  its  god  in  the  dawn  or  wind, 
And  called  itself  by  the  name  of  man,  the  master  and  lord, 
Who  conquers  the  strength  of  flame  and  tempers  the  spear  and 

sword  ; 

For  the  world  grows  wiser  by  war,  and  death  is  the  law  of  life. 
The  lowermost  rock  in  the  scar  is  red  with  the  stains  of  strife. 
Burst  thro'  the  bounds  of  sight,  and  measure  the  least  of  things, 
Plummet  the  infinite  and  make  to  thy  fancy  wings  ; 
From  crystal,  and  coral,  and  weed,  up  to  man  in  his  noblest  race, 
The  weaker  shall  fail  in  his  need,  and  the  stronger  shall  hold  his 

place  ! 

REN  ANUS  loquitur  : 

Ah  !  leave  me  yet  a  little  while,  to  watch 

The  golden  glory  of  the  dying  day, 
Till  all  the  purple  mountains  gleam  and  catch 

The  last  faint  light  that  slowly  steals  away. 

Too  soon  the  night  is  on  us  ;  aye,  too  soon 
We  know  the  cloud  is  born  of  blinding  mist : 

The  throne,  whereon  the  gods  sate  crowned  at  noon 
With  ruby  rays  and  liquid  amethyst, 

Is  but  a  vapour,  dim  and  grey,  a  streak 
Of  hollow  rain  that  freezes  in  its  fall, 

A  dull,  cold  shape  that  settles  on  the  peak, 
Icy  and  stifling  as  a  dead  man's  pall. 

The  world's  old  faith  is  fairest  in  its  death, 
For  death  is  fairer  oftentimes  than  life  ; 

No  vulgar  passion  quivers  in  the  breath  : 
The  dead  forget  their  weariness  and  strife. 

Say  not  that  death  is  even  as  decay, 

A  hideous  charnel  choked  with  rotting  dust ; 

The  cold  white  lips  are  beautiful  as  spray 
Cast  on  an  iceberg  by  the  northern  gust. 

The  memories  of  the  past  are  diadem 'd 
About  the  brow  and  folded  on  the  eyes  ; 

The  weary  lids  beneath  are  bent  and  gemm'd 
With  charmed  dreams  and  mystic  reveries. 


68  SAYCE 

Once  more  she  sits  in  her  imperial  chair, 
And  kings  and  Caesars  kneel  before  her  feet, 

And  clouds  of  incense  fill  the  heavy  air, 

And  shouts  of  homage  echo  thro'  the  street. 

Or  yet,  again,  she  stretches  forth  the  hand, 
And  men  are  done  to  death  at  her  desire  ; 

The  smoke  of  burning  cities  dims  the  land, 
And  limbs  are  torn  or  shrivelled  in  the  fire. 

Once  more  the  scene  is  shifted,  and  the  gleam 
Of  eastern  suns  about  her  brow  is  curled  ; 

Once  more  she  roams  a  maiden  by  the  stream, 
Despised  of  men,  the  Magdalen  of  the  world. 

So  scene  on  scene  floats  lightly,  as  a  haze 

That  comes  and  goes  with  sudden  gust  and  lull : 
Limned  with  the  sunset  hues  of  other  days, 
They  are  but  dreams;  yet  dreams  are  beautiful. 

ARCHIBALD  HENRY  SAYCE 
(Academy,  Dec.  5,   1885). 

As  in  the  two  preceding  quotations,  the  subject  is  the  supposed  conflict 
of  religion  and  science.  Haeckel  (born  1834,  recently  dead)  was  the  most 
ruthless  of  all  the  biologists  in  accounting  for  evolution  and  all  progress  by 
a  struggle  for  existence.  Renan  (1823-1892),  the  French  writer,  whose  love 
of  Christianity  survived  his  belief  in  it,  speaks  of  the  passing  away  of  the 
old  faith  as  "  the  golden  glory  of  the  dying  day,"  and  says  that  in  its  death 
it  will  be  more  beautiful  than  in  its  life,  when  it  led  to  passion,  persecu- 
tion and  war.  The  penultimate  verse  refers  to  the  time  when  temporal  power 
was  removed  from  the  church,  and  she  reverted  to  the  humility,  and  also  the 
beauty,  of  primitive  Christianity  when  it  came  in  its  morning  glory  from  the 
East. 

The  fact  that  these  fine  verses  are  by  the  great  philologist  and  archae- 
ologist, Professor  Sayce,  who  has  not  publicly  appeared  in  the  role  of  a  poet, 
adds  greatly  to  their  interest.  The  few  verses  he  has  published  have  mostly 
appeared  over  the  initials  "  A.H.S."  in  the  old  Academy  (the  present 
periodical  is  a  different  concern),  and  he  was  not  known  to  the  public 
as  the  author. 

Anything  about  Professor  Sayce  must  be  interesting  to  the  reader, 
and  I,  therefore,  need  not  apologize  for  mentioning  the  following  incidents, 
which,  I  imagine,  are  known  only  among  his  friends.  In  1870,  during  the 
Franco-German  War,  Mr.  Sayce  was  ordered  to  be  shot  at  Nantes  as  a 
German  spy,  and  only  escaped  "  by  the  skin  of  his  teeth."  It  was  just  before 
Gambetta  had  flown  in  his  balloon  out  of  Paris,  and  there  was  no  recognized 
Government  in  the  country.  Nantes  was  full  of  fugitives,  and  bands  of 
Uhlans  were  in  the  neighbourhood.  Mr.  Sayce  was  arrested  when  walking 
round  the  old  citadel  examining  its  walls — not  realizing  that  it  was  occupied 
by  French  troops.  Fortunately,  some  ladies  of  the  garrison  came  in  during 
his  examination  to  see  the  interesting  young  prisoner  and,  after  Mr.  Sayce 


CALVERIyEY  69 

had  been  placed  against  the  wall  and  a  soldier  told  off  to  shoot  him,  they 
prevailed  upon  the  Commandant  to  give  him  a  second  examination,  which 
ended  in  his  acquittal. 

Mr.  Sayce  was  also  among  the  Carlists  in  the  Carlist  war  of  1873,  and  was 
present  at  some  of  the  so-called  battles  which,  he  says,  were  dangerous 
only  to  the  onlookers.  He  also  once  had  a  pitched  battle  with  Bedouins 
in  Syria. 

Professor  Sayce  (he  became  Professor  in  1876)  has  also  the  proud 
distinction  of  being  the  only  person  known  to  have  survived  the  bite  of  the 
Egyptian  cerastes  asp,  which  is  supposed  to  have  killed  Cleopatra.  He 
accidentally  trod  on  the  reptile  in  the  desert  some  three  or  four  miles  north 
of  Assouan  and  was  bitten  in  the  leg.  Luckily,  he  happened  to  be  just 
outside  the  dahabieh  in  which  he  was  travelling  with  three  Oxford  friends, 
one  of  them  the  late  Master  of  Balliol.  The  cook  had  a  small  pair  of  red- 
hot  tongs,  with  which  he  had  been  preparing  lunch,  and  Professor  Sayce 
was  able  to  burn  the  bitten  leg  down  to  the  bone  within  two  minutes  after 
the  accident ;  thus  saving  his  life  at  the  expense  of  a  few  weeks'  lameness. 

BUT  hark  !  a  sound  is  stealing  on  my  ear — 
A  soft  and  silvery  sound — I  know  it  well. 

Its  tinkling  tells  me  that  a  time  is  near 
Precious  to  me — it  is  the  Dinner  Bell. 

0  blessed  Bell !     Thou  bringest  beef  and  beer, 

Thou  bringest  good  things  more  than  tongue  may  tell : 
Seared  is,  of  course,  my  heart — but  unsubdued 
Is,  and  shall  be,  my  appetite  for  food. 

1  go.     Untaught  and  feeble  is  mv  pen  : 

But  on  one  statement  I  may  safely  venture : 
That  few  of  our  most  highly  gifted  men 

Have  more  appreciation  of  the  trencher. 
I  go.     One  pound  of  British  beef,  and  then 

What  Mr.  Swiveller  called  a  "  modest  quencher  "  ; 
That,  "  home-returning,"  I  may  "  soothly  say," 
"  Fate  cannot  toxich  me  :  I  have  dined  to-day." 

C.  S.  CAI.VERWSY 
(Beer}. 

These  are  the  two  last  verses  of  a  parody  on  Byron.  In  each  of  the  last 
three  lines  there  is  a  literary  reference.  The  first,  of  course,  is  to  the  happy- 
go-lucky  Dick  Swiveller  of  Dickens's  Old  Curiosity  Shop. 

The  next  reference  is  to  the  amusing  story  about  Sir  Walter  Scott 
that  became  known  about  the  time  Calverley  was  writing  (1862).  Scott, 
in  his  description  of  Melrose  Abbey  by  moonlight  ("  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel ")  says  : 

If  thou  wouldst  view  fair  Meirose  aright, 

Go  visit  it  by  the  pale  moonlight ; 

For  the  gay  beams  of  lightsome  day 

Gild,  but  to  flout,  the  ruins  grey 


70  MEREDITH— CARROLL 

Yet  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  be  himself  bad  never  seen  the  Abbey  by 
moonlight !     He  further  tells  his  readers  that  they  can 

Home  returning,  soothly  swear 

Was  never  scene  so  sad  and  fair. 

They,  having  seen  it,  can  "  soothly"  (i.e.,  truthfully]  swear  to  its  beauty, 
which  was  more  than  he  himself  could  I 

Calverley's  last  line  is  from  Sydney  Smith's  "  Recipe  for  a  Salad  "  : 

Oh,  herbaceous  treat ! 
Twould  tempt  the  dying  anchorite  to  eat ; 
Back  to  the  world  he'd  turn  his  fleeting  soul, 
And  plunge  his  fingers  in  the  salad  bowl ; 
Serenely  full  the  epicure  would  say, 
"  Fate  cannot  harm  me — I  have  dined  to-day." 

This  again  is  an  adaptation  of  Dryden's  "  Imitation  of  Horace  "  (Book 
III,  Ode  29) : 

Happy  the  man,  and  happy  he  alone, 

He  who  can  call  to-day  his  own ; 

He  who,  secure  within,  can  say, 

To-morrow,  do  thy  worst,  for  1  have  liv'd  to-day. 


WE  may  live  without  poetry,  music  and  art ; 
We  may  live  without  conscience,  and  live  without  heart : 
We  may  live  without  friends  ;  we  may  live  without  books  ; 
But  civilized  man  can  not  live  without  cooks. 

He  may  live  without  books — what  is  knowledge  but  grieving  ? 
He  may  live  without  hope — what  is  hope  but  deceiving  ? 
He  may  live  without  love — what  is  passion  but  pining  ? 
But  where  is  the  man  that  can  live  without  dining  ? 

EARI,  OF  LYTTON,  "  OWEN  MEREDITH  "  (1831-1891) 
(Lutile). 


"  A  LOAF  of  bread,"  the  Walrus  said, 

"  Is  what  we  chiefly  need  : 
Pepper  and  vinegar  besides 

Are  very  good  indeed — 
Now  if  you're  ready,  Oysters  dear, 
We  can  begin  to  feed." 

LEWIS  CARROT^ 
(The  Walrus  and  the  Carpenter). 


BYRON— BROWNING  71 

THAT  all-softening,   overpowering  knell, 
The  tocsin  of  the  soul — the  dinner  bell. 

BYRON 

(Don  Juan} . 


FIRST  of  the  first, 

Such  I  pronounce  Pompilia,  then  as  now 
Perfect  in  whiteness  :  stoop  thou  down,  my  child.  . 
My  rose,   I  gather  for  the  breast  of  God.  . 
And  surely  not  so  very  much  apart, 
Need  I  place  thee,  my  warrior-priest.  . 

In  thought,  word  and  deed, 
How  throughout  all  thy  warfare  thou  wast  pure, 
I  find  it  easy  to  believe  :  and  if 
At  any  fateful  moment  of  the  strange 
Adventure,  the  strong  passion  of  that  strait, 
Fear  and  surprise  may  have  revealed  too  much, — 
As  when  a  thundrous  midnight,  with  black  air 
That  burns,  rain-drops  that  blister,  breaks  a  spell, 
Draws  out  the  excessive  virtue  of  some  sheathed 
Shut  unsuspected  flower  that  hoards  and  hides 
Immensity  of  sweetness, — so,   perchance, 
Might  the  surprise  and  fear  release  too  much 
The  perfect  beauty  of  the  body  and  soul 
Thou  savedst  in  thy  passion  for  God's  sake, 
He  who  is  Pity.     Was  the  trial  sore  ? 
Temptation  sharp  ?     Thank  God  a  second  time  ! 
Why  comes  temptation  but  for  man  to  meet 
And  master  and  make  crouch  beneath  his  feet, 
And  so  be  pedestaled  in  triumph  ? 

R.  BROWNING 
(The  Ring  and  the  Book,  X.) 


A  young  handsome  priest,  who  had  led  a  gay  life,  was  moved  by  pure 
motives  to  rescue  a  beautiful  young  wife  from  a  dreadful  husband,  and  he 
travelled  with  her  for  three  days  to  Rome.  The  husband  was  following 
with  an  armed  band,  the  priest  was  risking  disgrace,  and  the  girl  was  risking 
death.  The  mutual  danger  would  in  itself  tend  to  draw  the  fugitives 
too  closely  together ;  but  also  the  girl  had  shown  herself  doubly  lovable, 
for  the  strain  and  stress  had  revealed  in  her  a  very  beautiful  nature — just 
as  a  midnight  thunder-storm  opens  and  draws  rich  scent  from 

Some  sheathed 

Shut  unsuspected  flower  that  hoards  and  hides 
Immensity  of  sweetness. 


72  SWIFT  AND  OTHERS 

Coleridge  has  a  similar  illustration,  "  Quarrels  of  anger  ending  in  tears 
are  favourable  to  love  in  its  spring  tide,  as  plants  are  found  to  grow  very 
rapidly  after  a  thunderstorm  with  rain"—  (Allsop's  Letters,  etc.,  of  Coleridge}. 
Coleridge  died  in  1834,  and  "  The  Ring  and  the  Book  "  was  published 
in  1868-9  :  it  is  curious  that  both  poets  should  have  been  impressed  with  a 
fact  that  appears  to  have  been  only  recently  recognized.  In  the  seventies 
Lemstrom  proved  that  plants  thrive  under  electricity  ;  but  I  think  it  is  only 
a  few  years  ago  that  in  some  agricultural  experiments  in  Germany  it  was 
found  that  electricity  was  of  no  benefit  to  the  crops  without  rain  or  other 
moisture. 

The  quotation  is  from  the  fine  judgment  which  the  Pope  delivers. 


HE  had  been  eight  years  upon  a  project  for  extracting  sun- 
beams out  of  cucumbers,  which  were  to  be  ptit  in  phials  hermeti- 
cally sealed  and  let  out  to  warm  the  air  in  raw,  inclement  summers. 

SWIFT 

(Gulliver's  Travels). 


A  CHII/D  of  our  grandmother  Eve,  a  female,  or,  for  thy  more 
sweet  understanding,  a  woman. 

(Love's  Labour  Lost,  I,  i.) 


THE  whole  World  was  made  for  man,  but  the  twelfth  part 
of  man  for  woman  :  Man  is  the  whole  World,  and  the  Breath  of 
God  ;  Woman  the  rib  and  crooked  piece  of  man. 

SIR  THOMAS  BROWNE  (1605-1682) 
(Religio  Medici). 


GIVE  me  but  what  this  ribband  bound, 
Take  all  the  rest  the  sun  goes  round  ! 

EDMUND  WAITER  (1606-1687 
(On  a  Girdle) . 


A  WOMAN  is  the  most  inconsistent  compound  of  obstinacy 
and  self-sacrifice  that  I  am  acquainted  with. 

J.  P.  F.  RICHTER 

(Flower,   Fruit  and  Thorn  Pieces.) 


SHAKESPEARE  AND  OTHERS  73 

IF  she  be  made  of  white  and  red 
Her  faults  will  ne'er  be  known. 

(Love's  Labour  Lost,  I,  2), 


/  GOD  made  the  world  in  six  days,  and  then  he  rested.  He  then 
made  man  and  rested  again.  He  then  made  woman  and,  since 
then,  neither  man,  woman,  nor  anything  else  has  rested. 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACED. 


THOU  art  my  life,  my  love,  my  heart, 
The  very  eyes  of  me. 

ROBERT  HERRICK 
(To  Anthea), 


AS  perchance  carvers  do  not  faces  make, 
But  that  away,  which  hid  them  there,  do  take  : 
Let  crosses  so  take  what  hid  Christ  in  thee, 
And  be  his  Image,  or  not  his,  but  He. 

JOHN  DONNE 

(The  Cross}. 

As  sculptors  chisel  away  the  marble  that  hides  the  statue  within, 
so  let  "  crosses  "  or  afflictions  remove  the  impurities  which  hide  the  Christ 
in  us,  so  that  we  shall  become  His  image,  or  not  His  image,  but  Himself. 


WHAT  is  experience  ?     A  little  cottage  made  with  the  debris 
of  those  palaces  of  gold  and  marble  which  we  call  our  illusions. 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACED. 


HE  has  outsoared  the  shadow  of  our  night  ; 
Envy  and  calumny  and  hate  and  pain, 
And  that  unrest  which  men  miscall  delight, 
Can  touch  him  not  and  torture  not  again  ; 
From  the  contagion  of  the  world's  slow  stain. 


74  SHELLEY—  COLERIDGE 

He  is  secure,  and  now  can  never  mourn 
A  heart  grown  cold,  a  head  grown  gray  in  vain  ; 
Nor,  when  the  spirit's  self  has  ceased  to  burn, 
With  sparkless  ashes  load  an  unlamented  urn. 


(Adonais,  an  Elegy  on  Keats,  XL). 

This  verse  is  engraved  on   Shelley's  own  monument  in  the  Priory 
Church  at  Christchurch,  Hampshire. 


A  LOOSE,  slack,  not  well-dressed  youth  met  Mr.  Green  and 
myself  in  a  lane  near  Highgate.  Green  knew  him  and  spoke.  It 
was  Keats.  He  was  introduced  to  me,  and  stayed  a  minute  or  so. 
After  he  had  left  us  a  little  way,  he  came  back  and  said,  "  Let 
me  carry  away  the  memory,  Coleridge,  of  having  pressed  your 
hand  !  "  "  There  is  death  in  that  hand,"  I  said  to  Green,  when 
Keats  was  gone  ;  yet  this  was,  I  believe,  before  the  consumption 
showed  itself  distinctly. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE 

(Table  Talk). 

This  was  about  1819.  It  is  pathetic,  this  meeting  of  two  great  poets, 
Keats  who  was  to  die  two  years  afterwards  at  the  early  age  of  twenty- 
six,  and  Coleridge,  whose  few  brilliant  years  of  poetic  life  had  long  previously 
ended  in  slavery  to  the  opium-habit. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  JUDAS  ISCARIOT 

'TWAS  the  body  of  Judas  Iscariot 

Lay  in  the  Field  of  Blood  ; 
'Twas  the  soul  of  Judas  Iscariot 

Beside  the  body  stood. 

Black  was  the  earth  by  night, 

And  black  was  the  sky  ; 
Black,  black  were  the  broken  clouds, 

Tho'  the  red  Moon  went  by.  . 


BUCHANAN 

'Twos  the  soul  of  Judas  Iscariot, 
So  grim,    and   gaunt,    and   gray, 
Raised  the  body  of  Judas  Iscariot, 
And   carried   it   away. 


For  days  and  nights  he  wandered  on 

Upon  an  open  plain, 
And  the  days  went  by  like  blinding  mist, 
And  the  nights  like  rushing  rain. 

He  wandered  east,  he  wandered  west, 
And  heard  no  human  sound  ; 

For  months  and  years,  in  grief  and  tears, 
He  wandered  round  and  round.  . 


'Twas  the  soul  of  Judas  Iscariot, 

Strange,  and  sad,  and  tall, 
Stood  all  alone  at  dead  of  night 

Before  a  lighted  hall. 

And  the  wold  was  white  with  snow, 
And  his  foot-marks  black  and  damp, 

And  the  ghost  of  the  silvern  Moon  arose, 
Holding  her  yellow  lamp. 

And  the  icicles  were  on  the  eaves, 
And  the  walls  were  deep  with  white. 

And  the  shadows  of  the  guests  within 
Pass'd  on  the  window  light. 

The  shadows  of  the  wedding  guests 
Did   strangely  come  and  go, 

And  the  body  of  Judas  Iscariot 
Lay  stretch 'd  along  the  snow. 

The   body   of   Judas   Iscariot 
Lay  stretched  along  the  snow  ; 

'Twas  the  soul  of  Judas  Iscariot 
Ran  swiftly  to  and  fro. 

To  and  fro,  and  up  and  down, 

He  ran  so  swiftly  there, 
As  round  and  round  the  frozen  Pole 

Glideth  the  lean  white  bear. 


75 


76  BUCHANAN 

"Twas  the  Bridegroom  sat  at  the  table-head, 
And  the  lights  burnt  bright  and  clear — 

"  Oh,  who  is  that,"  the  Bridgroom  said, 
"Whose  weary  feet  I  hear  ?  " 


'Twas  one  look'd  from  the  lighted  hall, 
And  answered  soft  and  slow, 

"It  is  a  wolf  runs  up  and  down 
With  a  black  track  in  the  snow." 


The  Bridegroom  in  his  robe  of  white 

Sat  at  the  table-head — 
"  Oh,  who  is  that  who  moans  without  ?  " 

The  blessed  Bridegroom  said. 

'Twas  one  looked  from  the  lighted  hall, 

And  answered  fierce  and  low 
"  Tis  the  soul  of  Judas  Iscariot 

Gliding  to  and  fro." 

'Twas  the  soul  of  Judas  Iscariot 

Did  hush  itself  and  stand. 
And  saw  the  Bridegroom  at  the  door 

With  a  light  in  his  hand. 

The  Bridegroom  stood  in  the  open  door, 

And  he  was  clad  in  white, 
And  far  within  the  Lord's  Supper 

Was  spread  so  broad  and  bright. 

The  Bridegroom  shaded  his  eyes  and  look'd, 
And  his  face  was  bright  to  see — 

"  What  dost  thou  here  at  the  lord's  Supper 
With  thy  body's  sins  ?  "  said  he. 

'Twas  the  soul  of  Judas  Iscariot 
Stood  black,  and  sad,  and  bare — 

"  I  have  wandered  many  nights  and  days  ; 
There  is  no  light  elsewhere." 

'Twas  the  wedding  guests  cried  out  within, 
And  their  eyes  were  fierce  and  bright — 

"  Scourge  the  soul  of  Judas  Iscariot 
Away  into  the  night !  " 


BUCHANAN— HESTER     CHOI^MONDE&EY.  77 

The  Bridegroom  stood  in  the  open  door, 

And  he  waved  hands  still  and  slow, 
And  the  third  time  that  he  waved  his  hands 

The  air  was  thick  with  snow. 


And  of  every  flake  of  falling  snow, 
Before  it  touched  the  ground, 

There  came  a  dove,  and  a  thousand  doves 
Made  sweet  sound. 


'Twas  the  body  of  Judas  Iscariot 

Floated   away   full   fleet, 
And  the  wings  of  the  doves  that  bare  it  off 

Were  like  its  winding-sheet. 

'Twas  the  Bridegroom  stood  at  the  open  door, 

And  beckon'd,  smiling  sweet ; 
'Twas  the  soul  of  Judas  Iscariot 

Stole  in,  and  fell  at  his  feet. 


"  The  Holy  Supper  is  spread  within, 
And   the  many   candles   shine, 

And  I  have  waited  long  for  thee 
Before  I  poured  the  wine  !  " 

The  supper  wine  is  poured  at  last, 
The  lights  burn  bright  and  fair, 

Iscariot  washes  the  Bridegroom's  feet, 
And  dries  them  with  his  hair. 

ROBERT  BUCHANAN. 

See  reference  to  Buchanan  in  the  Preface. 


, 


NOW,  as  of  old, 
Man  by  himself  is  priced  : 

For  thirty  pieces  Judas  sold 
Himself,  not  Christ. 

HESTER 

I  learn  from  the  New  Statesman  reviewer  of  the  first  English  Edition 
that  these  lines  were  by  Hester,  a  gifted  sister  of  Mary  Cholmondeley.  She 
died  at  22. 


78  SMITH— COLERIDGE 

THE  world  is  not  so  much  in  need  of  new  thoughts  as  that  when 
thought  grows  old  and  worn  with  usage  it  should,  like  current 
coin,  be  called  in,  and,  from  the  mint  of  genius,  reissued  fresh 
and  new. 

ALEXANDER  SMITH 
(On  the  Writing  of  Essays). 


IT  is  the  calling  of  great  men,  not  so  much  to  preach  new  truths, 
as  to  rescue  from  oblivion  those  old  truths  which  it  is  our  wisdom 
to  remember  and  our  weakness  to  forget. 

SYDNEY  SMITH. 


IN  philosophy  equally  as  in  poetry  it  is  the  highest  and  most 
useful  prerogative  of  genius  to  produce  the  strongest  impressions 
of  novelty,  while  it  rescues  admitted  truths  from  the  neglect 
caused  by  the  very  circumstances  of  their  universal  admission. 
Extremes  meet.  Truths,  of  all  others  the  most  awful  and 
interesting,  are  too  often  considered  as  so  true,  that  they  lose  all 
the  power  of  truth,  and  he  bed-ridden  in  the  dormitory  of  the 
soul,  side  by  side  with  the  most  despised  and  exploded  errors. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE 
(Aids  to  Reflection). 


I  HAVE  given  no  man  of  my  fruit  to  eat, 

I  trod  the  grapes,  I  have  drunken  the  wine. 
Had  you  eaten  and  drunken  and  found  it  sweet, 

This  wild  new  growth  of  the  corn  and  vine, 
This    wine  and  bread  without  lees  or  leaven, 
We  had  grown  as  gods,  as  the  gods  in  heaven, 
Souls  fair  to  look  upon,  goodly  to  greet, 
One  splendid  spirit,  your  soul  and  mine. 

In  the  change  of  years,  in  the  coil  of  things, 
In  the  clamour  and  rumour  of  life  to  be, 
We,  drinking  love  at  the  furthest  springs, 

Covered  with  love  as  a  covering  tree. 

We  had  grown  as  gods,  as  the  gods  above, 

Filled  from  the  heart  to  the  lips  with  love, 

Held  fast  in  his  hands,  clothed  warm  with  his  wings, 

O  love,  my  love,  had  you  loved  but  me! 


SWINBURNE— ROSSETTI  79 

We  had  stood  as  the  sure  stars  stand,  and  moved 
As  the  moon  moves,  loving  the  world  ;  and  seen 

Grief  collapse  as  a  thing  disproved, 
Death  consume  as  a  thing  unclean, 

Twain  halves  of  a  perfect  heart,  made  fast 

Soul  to  soul  while  the  years  fell  past ; 

Had  you  loved  me  once,  as  you  have  not  loved  ; 
Had  the  chance  been  with  us  that  has  not  been. 

SWINBURNE 
(The  Triumph  of  Time.) 


BUT  she  is  far  away 
Now;  nor  the  hours  of  night  grown  hoar 
Bring  yet  to  me,  long  gazing  from  the  door, 

The  wind-stirred  robe  of  roseate  grey 
And  rose-crown  of  the  hour  that  leads  the  day 
When  we  shall  meet  once  more. 


Oh  sweet  her  bending  grace 
Then  when  I  kneel  beside  her  feet ; 
And  sweet  her  eyes  o'erhanging  heaven  ;  and  sweet 

The  gathering  folds  of  her  embrace  ; 
And  her  i'all'n  hair  at  last  shed  round  my  face 
When  breaths  and  tears  shall  meet.  . 


Ah  !  by  a  colder  wave 
On  deathlier  airs  the  hour  must  come 
Which  to  thy  heart,  my  love,  shall  call  me  home. 

Between  the  lips  of  the  low  cave 
Against  that  night  the  lapping  waters  lave, 
And  the  dark  lips  are  dumb. 


But  there  Love's  self  doth  stand, 
And  with  Life's  weary  wings  far-flown, 
And  with  Death's  eyes  that  make  the  water  moan, 

Gathers  the  water  in  his  hand  : 
And  they  that  drink  know  nought  of  sky  or  land 
But  only  love  alone. 

D.  G.  ROSSETTI 
(The  Stream's  Secret.) 


8o  GASCOIGNE  AND  OTHERS 

BEHOLD,  my  lord,  what  monsters  muster  here, 
With  Angels'  faces,  and  harmful,  hellish  hearts, 
With  smiling  looks,  and  deep  deceitful  thoughts, 
With  tender  skins,  and  stony  cruel  minds.  .  . 
The  younger  sort  come  piping  on  apace 
In  whistles  made  of  fine  enticing  wood, 
Till  they  have  caught  the  birds  for  whom  they  brided. 
The  elder  sort  go  stately  stalking  on, 
And  on  their  backs  they  bear  both  land  and  fee. 
Castles  and  Towers,  revenues  and  receipts, 
Lordships  and  manors,  fines,  yea  farms  and  all. 
What  should  these  be  ?     (Speak  you,  my  lovely  lord  !  ) 
They  be  not  men  :  for  why  ?  they  have  no  beards. 
They  be  no  boys,  which  wear  such  side-long  gowns. 
What  be  they  ?     women,  masking  in  men's  weeds, 
With  dutchkin  doublets  and  with  jerkins  jagged, 
With  Spanish  spangs  and  ruffs  set  out  of  France. 
They  be  so  sure  even  Wo  to  Men  indeed. 
High  time  it  were  for  my  poor  muse  to  wink, 
Since  all  the  hands,  all  paper,  pen  and  ink, 
Which  ever  yet  this  wretched  world  possessed, 
Cannot  describe  this  Sex  in  colours  due. 

GASCOIGNE 
(The  Steele  Glas,   1576). 


, 


I'M  not  denying  the  women  are  foolish  :   God  Almighty  made 
'em  to  match  the  men. 

GEORGE  EUOT 

(Adam   Bede). 


THEY  are  slaves  who  fear  to  speak 

For  the  fallen  and  the  weak  ; 

They  are  slaves  who  will  not  choose 

Hatred,  scoffing  and  abuse, 

Rather  than  in  silence  shrink 

From  the  truth  they  needs  must  think  ; 

They  are  slaves  who  dare  not  be 

In  the  right  with  two  or  three. 

J.   R.   LOWEI,!, 
(Stamas  on  Freedom). 


THACKERAY— STEVENSON  81 

THE  Baptist  might  be  in  the  Wilderness  shouting  to  the  poor, 
who  were  listening  with  all  their  might  and  faith  to  the  preacher's 
awful  accents  and  denunciations  of  wrath  or  woe  or  salvation  ; 
and  our  friend  the  Sadducee  would  turn  his  sleek  mule  with  a  shrug 
and  a  smile  from  the  crowd,  and  go  home  to  the  shade  of  his 
terrace,  and  muse,  over  preacher  and  audience,  and  turn  to  his 
roll  of  Plato,  or  his  pleasant  Greek  song-book  babbling  of  honey 
and  Hybla,  and  nymphs  and  fountains  and  love.  To  what, 
we  say,  does  this  scepticism  lead  ?  It  leads  a  man  to  a  shameful 
loneliness  and  selfishness.,  so  to  speak — the  more  shameful, 
because  it  is  so  good-humoured  and  conscienceless  and  serene. 
Conscience  !  What  is  conscience  ?  Why  accept  remorse  ?  What 
is  public  or  private  faith  ?  Myths  alike  enveloped  in  enormous 
tradition.  If  seeing  and  acknowledging  the  lies  of  the  world, 
Arthur,  as  see  them  you  can  with  only  too  fatal  a  clearness, 
you  submit  to  them  without  any  protest  farther  than  a  laugh  : 
if,  plunged  yourself  in  easy  sensuality,  you  allow  the  whole 
wretched  world  to  pass  groaning  by  you  unmoved  :  if  the  fight 
for  the  truth  is  taking  place,  and  all  men  of  honour  are  on  the 
ground  armed  on  the  one  side  or  the  other,  and  you  alone  are  to 
lie  on  your  balcony  and  smoke  your  pipe  out  of  the  noise  and 
the  danger,  you  had  better  have  died,  or  never  have  been  at 
all,  than  such  a  sensual  coward. 

W.  M.  THACKERAY 

(Pendennis,  XXIII}. 


WHAT  a  monstrous  spectre  is  this  man,  the  disease  of  the 
agglutinated  dust,  lifting  alternate  feet  or  lying  drugged  with 
slumber ;  killing,  feeding,  growing,  bringing  forth  small  copies 
of  himself  ;  grown  upon  with  hair  like  grass,  fitted  with  eyes 
that  move  and  glitter  in  his  face  ;  a  thing  to  set  children  screaming ; 
— and  yet  looked  at  nearlier,  known  as  his  fellows  know  him, 
how  surprising  are  his  attributes  !  Poor  soul,  here  for  so  little, 
cast  among  so  many  hardships,  filled  with  desires  so  incom- 
mensurate and  so  inconsistent,  savagely  surrounded,  savagely 
descended,  irremediably  condemned  to  prey  upon  his  fellow 
lives  :  who  should  have  blamed  him  had  he  been  of  a  piece  with 
his  destiny  and  a  being  merely  barbarous  ?  And  we  look  and 
behold  him  instead  filled  with  imperfect  virtues :  infinitely 
childish,  often  admirably  valiant,  often  touchingly  kind  ;  sitting 
down,  amidst  his  momentary  life,  to  debate  of  right  and  wrong 
and  the  attributes  of  the  deity  ;  rising  up  to  do  battle  for  an  egg  or 
die  for  an  idea  ;  singling  out  his  friends  and  his  mate  with  cordial 
affection  ;  bringing  forth  in  pain,  rearing  with  long-suffering 
solicitude,  his  young.  To  touch  the  heart  of  his  mystery,  we  find 
in  him  one  thought,  strange  to  the  point  of  lunacy  :  the  thought 
of  duty  ;  the  thought  of  something  owing  to  himself,  to  his 


82  WORDSWORTH— TRENCH 

neighbour,  to  his  God  ;  an  ideal  of  decency,  to  "which  he  would 
rise  if  it  were  possible  ;  a  limit  of  shame,  below  which,  if  it  be 
possible,  he  will  not  stoop. 

R.  L.  STEVENSON 

(Pulvis  et  Umbra). 


STERN  Lawgiver  !  yet  thou  dost  wear 
The  Godhead's  most  benignant  grace  ; 
Nor  know  we  anything  so  fair 
As  is  the  smile  upon  thy  face  : 
Flowers  laugh  before  thee  on  their  beds 
And  fragrance  in  thy  footing  treads  ; 
Thou  dost  preserve  the  stars  from  wrong  ; 

And  the  most  ancient  heavens,  through  Thee,  are  fresh  and  strong. 

WORDSWORTH 
(Ode  to  Duty}. 


A  CHARGE. 

IF  thou  has  squander'd  years  to  grave  a  gem 
Commission'd  by  thy  absent  Lord,  and  while 
'Tis  incomplete, 

Others  would  bribe  thy  needy  skill  to  them — 
Dismiss  them  to  the  street ! 

Should'st  thou  at  last  discover  Beauty's  grove, 
At  last  be  panting  on  the  fragrant  verge, 
But    in    the    track, 

Drunk  with  divine  possession,  thou  meet  Love — 
Turn  at  her  bidding  back. 

When  round  thy  ship  in  tempest  Hell  appears, 
And  every  spectre  mutters  up  more  dire 

To  snatch  control 

And  loose  to  madness  thy  deep-kennell'd  Fears — 
Then  to  the  helm,  O  Soul ! 

Last ;  if  upon  the  cold  green-mantling  sea 
Thou  cling,  alone  with  Truth,  to  the  last  spar, 

Both  castaway, 

And  one  must  perish — let  it  not  be  he 
Whom  thou  art  sworn  to  obey  I 

HERBERT  TRENCH. 
(Born  1865). 


MARTINEAU— CARL,YI,E  83 

HUMAN  nature,  trained  in  the  School  of  Christianity,  throws 
away  as  false  the  delineation  of  piety  in  the  disguise  of  Hebe, 
and  "declares  that  there  is  something  higher  than  happiness — 
that  thought  which  is  ever  full  of  care  and  truth  is  better  far — 
that  all  true  and  disinterested  affection,  which  often  is  called 
to  mourn,  is  better  still — that  the  devoted  allegiance  of  conscience 
to  duty  and  to  God — which  ever  has  in  it  more  of  penitence  than 
of  joy — is  noblest  of  all. 

JAMES  MARTINEAU 

(Endeavours  after  the  Christian  Life,  p.  42). 


THERE  is  in  man  a  Higher  than  I^ove  of  Happiness ;  he  can  do 
without  Happiness,  and  instead  thereof  find  Blessedness  !  Was 
it  not  to  preach  forth  this  same  Higher  that  sages  and  martyrs, 
the  poet  and  the  priest,  in  all  times  have  spoken  and  suffered  ; 
bearing  testimony,  through  life  and  through  death,  of  the  God- 
like that  is  in  Man,  and  how  in  the  Godlike  only  has  he  Strength 
and  Freedom  ?  Which  God-inspired  Doctrine  art  thou  also 
honoured  to  be  taught ;  O  Heavens  !  and  broken  with  manifold 
merciful  Afflictions,  even  till  thou  become  contrite  and  learn  it ! 
O  thank  thy  Destiny  for  these  ;  thankfully  bear  what  yet  remain ; 
thou  hadst  need  of  them  ;  the  Self  in  thee  needed  to  be  annihilated. 
.  .  Ivove  not  Pleasure  ;  love  God.  This  is  the  EVERI/ASTING 
YEA,  wherein  all  contradiction  is  solved  ;  wherein  whoso  walks 
and  works,  it  is  well  with  him.  .  .  To  the  Worship  of  Sorrow, 
ascribe  what  origin  and  genesis  thou  pleasest,  has  not  that 
Worship  originated,  and  been  generated  ?  Is  it  not  here  ? 
Feel  it  in  thy  heart,  and  then  say  whether  it  is  of  God !  This  is 
Belief ;  all  else  is  Opinion.  .  .  Do  the  Duty  which  liest  nearest 
thee,  which  thou  knowest  to  be  a  Duty.  The  Situation  that 
has  not  its  Duty,  its  Ideal,  was  never  yet  occupied  by  man.  Yes 
here,  in  this  poor,  miserable,  hampered,  despicable  Actual,  where- 
in thou  even  now  standest,  here  or  nowhere  is  thy  Ideal :  work 
it  out  therefrom  ;  and  working,  believe,  live,  be  free.  The  Ideal 
is  in  thyself. 

THOMAS  CARI/VTI^E 
(Sartor  Resartus). 

The  belief  that  the  sense  of  duty  and  moral  aspiration  arise  from 
within  ourselves,  and  are  the  cause  rather  than  the  result  of  sociological 
evolution  is  far  more  widespread  to-day  than  in  what  Carlyle  calls  his 
"  atheistical  century."  The  "  Everlasting  Yea  "  is  opposed  to  the  "  Ever* 
lasting  No  "  of  nescience. 


84  VAUGSAN  AND  OTHERS 

HE  that  hath  found  some  fledged  bird's  nest  may  know 

At  first  sight,  if  the  bird  be  flown  ; 
But  what  fair  well  or  grove  he  sings  in  now 
That  is  to  him  unknown. 

HENRY  VAUGHAN 

(Friends  Departed) 
For  the  subject  of  the  verse  see  title  of  poem. 

MUST  it  last  for  ever, 

The  passionate  endeavour, 
Ah,  have  ye,  there  in  heaven,  hearts  to  throb  and  still  aspire  ? 

In  the  life  you  know  now, 

Render'd  white  as  snow  now, 
Do   fresher   glory -heights   arise,    and   beckon    higher — higher  ? 

Are  you  dreaming,   dreaming, 

Is  your  soul  still  roaming, 
Still  gazing  upward  as  we  gazed,  of  old  in  the  autumn  gloaming  ?  . 

But  ah,  that  pale  moon  roaming 

Thro'  fleecy  mists  of  gloaming, 
Furrowing  with  pearly  edge  the  jewel-powder'd  sky, 

And  ah,  the  days  departed 

With  your  friendship  gentle-hearted, 
And  ah,  the  dream  we  dreamt  that  night,  together  you  and  I ! 

Is  it  fashioned  wisely, 

To  help  us  or  to  blind  us, 
That  at  each  height  we  gain  we  turn,  and  behold  a  heaven  behind  us  ? 

R.  BUCHANAN 
(To  David  in  Heaven). 

David  Gray  was  a  young  poet  and  a  great  friend  of  Buchanan'i. 
Another  verse  in  the  poem  is  : 

In   some   heaven   star-lighted, 

Are  you  now  united 
Unto  the  poet-spirits  that  you  loved  of  English  race  ? 

Is  Chatterton  still  dreaming  ? 

And,  to  give  it  stately  seeming, 
Has  the  music  of  his  last  strong  song  passed  into  Keats's  face  ? 

Is  Wordsworth  there  T  and  Spenser  ? 

Beyond  the  grave's  black  portals, 
Can  the  grand  eye  of  Milton  see  the  glory  he  sang  to  mortals  ? 

WHAT  would  one  have  ? 

In  heaven,  perhaps,  new  chances,  one  more  chance — 
Four  great  walls  in  the  New  Jerusalem, 
Meted  on  each  side  by  the  angel's  reed, 
For  ^Leonard,  Rafael,  Angelo  and  me 
To  cover.  ROBERT  BROWNING 

(Andrea  del  Sarto). 


TABB  AND  OTHERS  85 

Andrea  del  Sarto  says  that,  but  for  certain  unfortunate  circumstances, 
he  might  have  reached  the  high  eminence  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  Raphael, 
and  Michael  Angelo.  In  heaven  he  may  have  another  chance  to  compete 
with  them. 

THEIR  noon-day  never  knows 

What  names  immortal  are  : 
'Tis  night  alone  that  shows 
How  star  surpasseth  star. 

J.  B.  TABB 
(Fame) . 


BUT  O,  that  deep  romantic  chasm  which  slanted 
Down  the  green  hill  athwart  a  cedarn  cover  ! 
A  savage  place  !  as  holy  and  enchanted 
As  e'er  beneath  a  waning  moon  was  haunted 
By  woman  wailing  for  her  demon-lover ! 

S.   T.   COLERIDGE 

(KublaKhari). 

This  and  the  five  following  quotations  and  others  through  the  book  are 
from  a  small  collection  of  word-pictures,  that  I  had  begun  to  put  together. 
They  are  mostly  well-known. 


the  Nereids  under  the  green  sea. 
Their  wavering  limbs  borne  on  the  wind-like  stream, 
Their  white  arms  lifted  o'er  their  streaming  hair 
With  garlands  pied  and  starry  sea-flower  crowns, 
Hastening  to  grace  their  mighty  sister's  joy. 

SHEU.EY 
(Prometheus  Unbound). 


AH,  sad  and  strange  as  in  dark  summer  dawns 

The  earliest  pipe  of  half-awakened  birds 

To  dying  ears,  when  unto  dying  eyes 

The  casement  slowly  grows  a  glimmering  square  : 

So  sad,  so  strange,  the  days  that  are  no  more., 

TENNYSON 
(The  Princess). 


86  MACDONAIJ)  AND  OTHERS 

•  :  "  BUT  show  me  the  child  thou  callest  mine, 
Is  she  out  to-night  in  the  ghost's  sunshine  ?  " 

"In  St.  Peter's  Church  she  is  playing  on, 
At  hide-and-seek,  with  Apostle  John. 

When  the  moonbeams  right  through  the  window  go, 
Where  the  twelve  are  standing  in  glorious  show, 

She  says  the  rest  of  them  do  not  stir, 
But  one  comes  down  to  play  with  her." 

G.    MACDONAU) 

(Phantasies). 

It  is  a  ghost-child  who  is  playing  in  the  great  cathedral. 


GOI/DEN  head  by  golden  head, 
Like  two  pigeons  in  one  nest 
Folded  in  each  other's  wings, 
They  lay  down  in  their  curtained  bed. 

CHRISTINA   ROSSETTI 
(Goblin  Market) 


UTTI/E  Boy  Blue,  come  blow  your  horn  ; 
The  cow's  in  the  meadow,  the  sheep  in  the  corn  ; 
Is  this  the  way  you  mind  your  sheep, 
Under  the  haycock  fast  alseep  ? 

Nursery   Rhyme. 

Edward  Fitzgerald,  quoting  this  in  "  Euphranor,"  says  the  "  meadow  "  is  the  grass 
reserved  for  meadowing,  or  mowing. 


THE  FEAST  OF  ADONIS. 

Gorgo.     Is  Praxinoe   at  home  ? 

Praxinoe.     My  dear  Gorgo,  at  last !     Yes,  here  I  am.     Euno, 
find  a  chair — get  a  cushion  for  it. 
Gorgo.     It  will  do  beautifully  SUB  it  is. 
Praxino'e.     Do  sit  down. 


THEOCRITUS  87 

Gorgo.  Oh,  this  gad-about  spirit !  I  could  hardly  get  to  you, 
Praxinoe,  through  all  the  crowd  and  all  the  carriages.  Nothing 
but  heavy  boots,  nothing  but  men  in  uniform.  And  what 
a  journey  it  is  !  My  dear  child,  you  really  live  too  far  off. 

Praxinoe  It,  is  all  that  insane  husband  of  mine.  He  has 
chosen  to  come  out  here  to  the  end  of  the  world,  and  take  a  hole 
of  a  place — for  a  house  it  is  not — on  purpose  that  you  and  I 
might  not  be  neighbours.  He  is  always  just  the  same — anything 
to  quarrel  with  one  !  anything  for  spite  ! 

Gorgo.  My  dear,  don't  talk  so  of  your  husband  before  the 
little  fellow.  Just  see  how  astonished  he  looks  at  you.  (Talking 
to  the  child.)  Never  mind,  Zopyrio  my  pet,  she  is  not  talking 
about  papa.  (Good  heavens,  the  child  does  really  understand.) 
Pretty  papa ! 

Praxinoe.  That  "  pretty  papa  "  of  his  the  other  day  (though 
I  told  him  beforehand  to  mind  what  he  was  about) ,  when  I  sent 
him  to  a  shop  to  buy  soap  and  rouge,  brought  me  home  salt 
instead  ;  stupid,  great,  big,  interminable  animal  ! 

Gorgo.  Mine  is  just  the  fellow  to  him.  But  never  mind  now, 
get  on  your  things  and  let  us  be  off  to  the  palace  to  see  the  Adonis. 
I  hear  the  Queen's  decorations  are  something  splendid. 

Praxinoe.  "  In  grand  people's  houses  everything  is  grand." 
What  things  you  have  seen  in  Alexandria  !  What  a  deal  you  will 
have  to  tell  to  anybody  who  has  never  been  there  ! 

Gorgo.     Come,  we  ought  to  be  going« 

Praxinoe.  "  Every  day  is  a  holiday  to  people  who  have  nothing 
to  do."  Eunoe,  pick  up  your  work ;  and  take  care,  you  lazy 
girl,  how  you  leave  it  lying  about  again  ;  the  cats  find  it  just 
the  bed  they  like.  Come,  stir  yourself,  fetch  me  some  water, 
quick  !  I  wanted  the  water  first,  and  the  girl  brings  me  the  soap, 
Never  mind ;  give  it  me.  Not  all  that,  extravagant !  Now 
pour  out  the  water — stupid  !  Why  don't  you  take  care  of  my 
dress  ?  That  will  do.  I  have  got  my  hands  washed  as  it  pleased 
God.  Where  is  the  key  of  the  large  wardrobe  ?  Bring  it  here — 
quick  ! 

Gorgo.  Praxinoe,  you  can't  think  how  well  that  dress,  made 
full,  as  you  have  got  it,  suits  you.  Tell  me,  how  much  did 
it  cost — the  dress  by  itself,  I  mean  ? 

Praxinoe.  Don't  talk  of  it,  Gorgo  :  more  than  eight  guineas 
of  good  hard  money.  And  about  the  work  on  it,  I  have  almost 
worn  my  life  out. 

Gorgo.     Well,  you  couldn't  have  done  better. 

Praxino  .  Thank  you.  Bring  me  my  shawl,  and  put  my 
hat  properly  on  my  head — properly.  No,  child  (to  her  little 
boy,)  I  am  not  going  to  take  you  ;  there's  a  bogey  on  horseback 


88  THEOCRITUS 

who  bites.  Cry  as  much  as  you  Like  ;  I'm  not  going  to  have  you 
lamed  for  life.  Now  we'll  start.  Nurse  take  the  little  one  and 
amuse  him  ;  call  the  dog  in,  and  shut  the  street  door.  (They 
go  out.}  Good  heavens  !  what  a  crowd  of  people  !  How  on  earth 
are  we  ever  to  get  through  all  this  ?  They  are  like  ants  :  you 
can't  count  them.  My  dearest  Gorgo,  what  will  become  of  us  ? 
Here  are  the  Royal  Horse  Guards.  My  good  man,  don't  ride 
over  me  !  Look  at  that  bay  horse  rearing  bolt  upright ;  what 
a  vicious  one  !  Eunoe,  you  mad  girl,  do  take  care  ! — that  horse 
will  certainly  be  the  death  of  the  man  on  his  back.  How  glad 
I  am  now,  that  I  left  the  child  safe  at  home 

Gorgo.  All  right,  Praxinoe,  we  are  safe  behind  them  ;  and  they 
have  gone  on  to  where  they  are  stationed. 

Praxinoe.  Well,  yes,  I  begin  to  revive  again,  From  the  time 
I  was  a  little  girl  I  have  had  more  horror  of  horses  and  snakes 
than  of  anything  else  in  the  world.  Let  us  get  on  ;  here's  a  great 
crowd  coming  this  way  upon  us. 

Gorgo  (to  an  old  woman).      Mother,  are  you  from  the  palace  ? 
Old  woman.     Yes,  my  dears. 

Gorgo.     Has  one  a  tolerable  chance  of  getting  there  ? 
Old  woman.     My  pretty  young  lady,  the  Greeks  got  to  Troy 
by  dint  of  trying  hard  ;  trying  will  do  anything  in  this  world. 

Gorgo.  The  old  creature  has  delivered  an  oracle  and  dis- 
appeared. 

Praxinoe.  Women  can  tell  you  everything  about  everything, 
even  about  Jupiter's  marriage  with  Juno  ! 

Gorgo.     Look,  Praxinoe,  what  a  squeeze  at  the  palace  gates 

Praxinoe.  Tremendous !  Take  hold  of  me,  Gorgo ;  and  you, 
Eunoe,  take  hold  of  Eutychis  ! — tight  hold,  or  you'll  be  lost. 
Here  we  go  in  all  together.  Hold  tight  to  us,  Eunoe  !  Oh,  dear  ! 
oh,  dear  !  Gorgo,  there's  my  scarf  torn  right  in  two.  For 
heaven's  sake,  my  good  man,  as  you  hope  to  be  saved,  take  care 
of  my  dress  ! 

Stranger.     I'll  do  what  I  can,  but  it  doesn't  depend  upon  me. 

Praxinoe.  What  heaps  of  people  !  They  push  like  a  drove 
of  pigs. 

Stranger.     Don't  be  frightened,  ma'am,  we  are  all  right. 

Praxinoe.  May  you  be  all  right,  my  dear  sir,  to  the  last  day 
you  live,  for  the  care  you  have  taken  of  us  !  What  a  kind, 
considerate  man  !  There  is  Eunoe  jammed  in  a  squeeze.  Push, 
you  goose,  push  !  Capital !  We  are  all  of  us  the  right  side 
of  the  door,  as  the  bridegroom  said  when  he  had  locked  himself 
in  with  the  bride. 


THEOCRITUS  89 

Gorgo.  Praxinoe,  come  this  way,  Do  but  look  at  that  work, 
how  delicate  it  is  !— -how  exquisite  !  Why,  the  gods  might  wear 
it  in  heaven. 

Praxinoe.  Goddess  of  Spinning,  what  hands  were  hired  to 
do  that  work  ?  Who  designed  those  beautiful  patterns  ?  They 
seem  to  stand  up  and  move  about,  as  if  they  were  real — as  if 
they  were  living  things,  and  not  needlework.  Well,  man  is  a 
wonderful  creature !  And  look,  look,  how  charming  he  lies 
there  on  his  silver  couch,  with  just  a  soft  down  on  his  cheeks, 
that  beloved  Adonis — Adonis,  whom  one  loves  even  though  he 
is  dead  ! 

Another  stranger.  You  wretched  women,  do  stop  your  inces- 
sant chatter  !  Like  turtles,  you  go  on  for  ever. 

Gorgo.  Lord,  where  does  the  man  come  from  ?  What  is  it 
to  you  if  we  are  chatterboxes  ?  Order  about  your  own  servants  ! 

Praxinoe.  Oh,  honey-sweet  Proserpine,  let  us  have  no  more 
masters  than  the  one  we've  got !  We  don't  the  least  care  for 
you  ;  pray  don't  trouble  yourself  for  nothing. 

Gorgo.  Be  quiet,  Praxinoe !  That  first-rate  singer,  the 
Argive  woman's  daughter,  is  going  to  sing  the  Adonis  hymn. 
She  is  the  same  who  was  chosen  to  sing  the  dirge  last  year.  We  are 
sure  to  have  something  first-rate  from  her.  She  is  going  through 
her  airs  and  graces  ready  to  begin. 

THEOCRITUS  (Fifteenth  Idyll). 

This  is  Matthew  Arnold's  translation  of  a  poem  by  Theocritus,  who 
lived  in  the  Third  Century  B.C.,  2,200  years  ago,  (see  Arnold's  Essay  on 
Pagan  and  Mediaeval  Religious  Sentiment].  I  have  altered  a  few  words  and 
also  omitted  part  because  of  its  length. 

Gorgo,  a  lady  of  Alexandria,  calls  on  her  friend  Praxinoe,  to  take 
her  to  the  Festival  of  Adonis.  Greek  ladies  were  allowed  to  go  out  on 
Festival  days  if  veiled  and  attended,  and,  therefore,  Gorgo  and  Praxinoe 
take  with  them  their  respective  maids,  Eutychis  and  Eunoe,  who  would 
no  doubt  be  slave-girls. 

Some  curious  facts  may  be  noted.  The  wife  is  kept  in  seclusion  and 
the  husband  does  the  marketing,  buying  among  other  things  her  rouge* 
Observe  how  perfunctory  are  the  pretty  lady's  ablutions  (the  soap,  by  the 
way,  is  in  the  form  of  paste).  The  little  boy  represents  the  ruling  sex 
and  will  be  removed  at  an  early  age  from  her  control.  She  is  disposed 
to  rebel  against  her  lord  and  master,  but  takes  the  utmost  care  of  the 
important  boy-child.  While  the  ladies  with  their  slaves  make  up  their 
own  dresses,  the  designs  and  the  finest  needlework  are  done  by  men.  The 
Greek  woman  in  Athens  was  practically  uneducated  and  regarded  as  an 
inferior  being ;  but  these  ladies  were  Dorian  Greeks  and  would  no  doubt 
be  better  treated  and  have  somewhat  more  freedom — especially  in  Alexan- 
dria, which  was  a  colony  and,  therefore,  probably  less  conservative. 
Although  no  doubt  veiled,  their  eyes  would  be  visible  and,  as  seen  in  the 
East  to-day,  a  pretty  woman  can  always  manage  to  show  her  beauty,  if 
she  chooses.  It  will  be  seen  that  one  man  is  polite  to  the  two  young, 


90  WORDSWORTH  AND  OTHERS 

pretty,  richly-dressed  ladies,  and  saves  them  from  being  crushed  by  the 
crowd,  while  another  is  a  crusty,  grumpy  person,  who  treats  them  with 
some  rudeness  and,  in  the  original,  ridicules  their  Dorian  pronunciation. 
Praxinoe  is  most  grateful  to  the  polite  man  for  what  would  now  be  an 
ordinary  act  of  courtesy. 

As  regards  the  conversation  Andrew  Lang  says  :  "  Nothing  can  be 
more  gay  and  natural  than  the  chatter  of  the  women,  which  has  changed 
no  more  in  two  thousand  years  than  the  song  of  birds." 


I  HAVE  seen 

A  curious  child,  who  dwelt  upon  a  tract 
Of  inland  ground,  applying  to  his  ear 
The  convolutions  of  a  smooth-lipped  shell  ; 
To  which,  in  silence  hushed,  his  very  soul 
Listened  intensely  ;  and  his  countenance  soon 
Brightened  with  joy ;  for  from  within  were  heard 
Murmurings,  whereby  the  monitor  expressed 
Mysterious  union  with  its  native  sea. 
Even  such  a  shell  the  universe  itself 
Is  to  the  ear  of  Faith  ;  and  there  are  times, 
I  doubt  not,  when  to  you  it  doth  impart 
Authentic  tidings  of  invisible  things  ; 
Of  ebb  and  flow,  and  ever-during  power  ; 
And  central  peace,  subsisting  at  the  heart 
Of  endless  agitation. 

WORDSWORTH 
(The   Excursion). 


MARRIAGE  is  a  desperate  thing  ;  the  Frogs  in  Aesop  were 
extreme  wise  :  they  had  a  great  mind  to  some  Water,  but  they 
would  not  leap  into  the  Well,  because  they  could  not  get  out 
again. 


'TIS  reason  a  Man  that  will  have  a  Wife  should  be  at  the  Charge 
of  her  Trinkets,  and  pay  all  the  Scores  she  sets  on  him.  He 
that  will  keep  a  Monkey,  'tis  fit  he  should  pay  for  the  Glasses 
he  breaks.  SELDEN 

(Table   Talk). 

WHEN  you're  a  married  man,  Samivel,  you'll  understand  a  good 
many  things  as  you  don't  understand  now  ;  but  vether  it's  worth 
while  goin'  through  so  much  to  learn  so  little,  as  the  charity-boy 
said  wen  he  got  to  the  end  of  the  alphabet,  is  a  matter  o'  taste. 
/  rayther  think  it  isn't. 

CHARGES  DICKENS 
(Pickwick  Papers). 


POPE  AND  OTHERS  91 

MATRIMONY  is  the  only  game  of  chance  the  clergy  favour. 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACED 


A  MAN,  who  admires  a  fine  woman,  has  yet  no  more  reason 
to  wish  liimself  her  husband,  than  one,  who  admired  the  Hes- 
perian fruit,  would  have  had  to  wish  himself  the  dragon  that 
kept  it. 

ALEXANDER   POPE. 


YOU  wish,  Paula,  to  marry  Priscus.     I  am  not  surprised  ; 
You  are  wise  ;  Priscus  will  not  marry  you  and  he  is  wise. 

MARTIAI,  IX,  5. 


IN  THE  TWILIGHT. 

MEN  say  the  sullen  instrument. 
That,  from  the  Master's  bow, 
With  pangs  of  joy  or  woe, 
Feels  music's  soul  through  every  fibre  sent, 

Whispers  the  ravished  strings 
More  than  he  knew  or  meant ; 

Old  summers  in  its  memory  glow  ; 
The  secrets  of  the  wind  it  sings ; 
It  hears  the  April-loosened  springs  ; 
And  mixes  with  its  mood 
All  it  dreamed  when  it  stood 
In  the  murmurous  pine- wood, 
Long  ago  ! 

The    magical    moonlight    then 

Steeped  every  bough  and  cone  ; 
The  roar  of  the  brook  in  the  glen 

Came  dim  from  the  distance  blown  ; 
The  wind  through  its  glooms  sang  low. 
And  it  swayed  to  and  fro 
With  delight  as  it  stood 
In  the  wonderful  wood, 
Long  ago  ! 


92  LOWELL 

O  my  life,  have  we  not  had  seasons 
That  only  said,  Live  and  rejoice  ? 
That  asked  not  for  causes  and  reasons, 

But  made  us  all  feeling  and  voice  ? 
When  we  went  with  the  winds  in  their  blowing, 

When  Nature  and  we  were  peers, 
And  we  seemed  to  share  in  the  flowing 
Of  the  inexhaustible  years  ? 
Have  we  not  from  the  earth  drawn  juices 
Too  fine  for  earth's  sordid  uses  ? 
Have  I  heard,  have  I  seen 
All  I  feel  and  I  know  ? 
Doth  my  heart  overween  ? 
Or  could  it  have  been 
Long  ago  ? 


Sometimes  a  breath  floats  by  me, 

An  odour  from  Dreamland  sent, 
That  makes  the  ghost  seem  nigh  me 

Of  a  splendour  that  came  and  went, 
Of  a  life  lived  somewhere,  I  know  not 

In  what  diviner  sphere, 
Of  memories  that  stay  not  and  go  not, 

Like  music  heard  once  by  an  ear 

That  cannot  forget  or  reclaim  it, 
A  something  so  shy,  it  would  shame  it 

To  make  it  a  show, 
A  something  too  vague,  could  I  name  it, 

For  others  to  know, 
As  if  I  had  lived  it  or  dreamed  it, 
As  if  I  had  acted  or  schemed  it, 
Long  ago  ! 


And  yet,  could  I  live  it  over, 

This  life  that  stirs  in  my  brain 
Could  I  be  both  maiden  and  lover, 
Moon  and  tide,  bee  and  clover, 

As  I  seem  to  have  been,  once  again, 
Could  I  but  speak  and  show  it, 

This  pleasure  more  sharp  than  pain, 

That  baffles  and  lures  me  so, 
The  world  should  not  lack  a  poet, 
Such  as  it  had 
In  the  ages  glad, 
Long  ago. 

J.  R.  LOWBU,. 


COLERIDGE— THOMPSON  93 

I  AM  especially  pleased  with  their  freundin  (the  German  word 
meaning  a  female  friend),  which  unlike  the  arnica  of  the  Romans. 
is  seldom  used  but  in  its  best  and  purest  sense.  Now  I  know 
it  will  be  said  that  a  friend  is  already  something  more  than 
a  friend,  when  a  man  feels  an  anxiety  to  express  to  himself 
that  this  friend  is  a  female ;  but  this  I  deny — in  that  sense  at  least 
in  which  the  objection  will  be  made.  I  would  hazard  the  impeach- 
ment of  heresy,  rather  than  abandon  my  belief  that  there  is  a 
sex  in  our  souls  as  well  as  in  their  perishable  garments  ;  and  he 
who  does  not  feel  it,  never  truly  loved  a  sister — nay,  is  not  capable 
even  of  loving  a  wife  as  she  deserves  to  be  loved,  if  she  indeed  be 
worthy  of  that  holy  name. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE 
(Biogvaphia  Literaria,  letter  to  a  I/ady). 

Coleridge  also  says  :  "  The  qualities  of  the  sexes  correspond.  The 
man's  courage  is  loved  by  the  woman,  whose  fortitude  again  is  coveted 
by  the  man.  His  vigorous  intellect  is  answered  by  her  infallible  tact. 
Can  it  be  true  what  is  so  constantly  affirmed,  that  there  is  no  sex  in  souls  ? 
— I  doubt  it,  I  doubt  it  exceedingly." — Table  Talk. 

But  surely  Coleridge  might  have  found  the  best  proof  of  his  contention 
in  the  nature  of  children,  the  small  boy  who  rights  with  his  fists,  plays  with 
tin  soldiers  and  despises  "  girls,"  and  the  girl-child  who  loves  her  doll  and 
her  pretty  clothes.  See  next  quotation. 


O  THOU  most  dear  ! 

Who  art  thy  sex's  complex  harmony 

God-set  more  f  acilely  ; 

To  thee  may  love  draw  near 

Without  one  blame  or  fear. 
Unchidden  save  by  his  humility  : 
Thou  Perseus'  Shield  wherein  I  view  secure 
The  mirrored  Woman's  fateful-fair  allure  ! 
Whom  Heaven  still  leaves  a  twofold  dignity, 
As  girlhood  gentle,  and  as  boyhood  free  ; 
With  whom  no  most  diaphanous  webs  enwind 
The  bared  limbs  of  the  rebukeless  mind. 
Wild  Dryad,  all  unconscious  of  thy  tree, 

With  which  indissolubly 

The  tyrannous  time  shall  one  day  make  thee  whole  ; 
Whose  frank  arms  pass  unfretted  through  its  bole 

Who  wear'st  thy  femineity 
Ught  as  entrailed  blossoms,  that  shalt  find 
It  erelong  silver  shackles  unto  thee. 


94  THOMPSON— POPE 

Thou  whose  young  sex  is  yet  but  in  thy  soul ; — 

As  hoarded  in  the  vine 
Hang  the  gold  skins  of  undelirious  wine, 
As  air  sleeps,  till  it  toss  its  limbs  in  breeze  : — 

In  whom  the  mystery  which  lures  and  sunders  ; 
Grapples  and  thrusts  apart;  endears,  estranges, 
— The  dragon  to  its  own  Hesperides — 

Is  gated  under  slow-revolving  changes, 
Manifold  doors  of  heavy-hinged  years. 

So  once,  ere  Heaven's  eyes  were  filled  with  wonders 
To  see  Laughter  rise  from  Tears, 
Lay  in  beauty  not  yet  mighty, 

Conched  in  translucencies, 
The  antenatal  Aphodrite, 
Caved  magically  under  magic  seas  ; 
Caved  dreamlessly  beneath  the  dreamful  seas. 

FRANCIS  THOMPSON 

(Sister  Songs). 

Francis  Thompson  is  one  of  the  "  difficult  "  poets  who  repay  study. 
Here  he  says  that,  in  the  young  girl,  sex  appears  in  a  less  complex  form 
than  in  the  woman  and,  just  as  Perseus  could  safely  look  at  the  reflection 
on  his  shield  of  the  fatal  Medusa's  head,  so  we  can  freely  view  womanhood 
in  the  girl-child.  Nothing  conceals  her  open,  innocent,  feminine  nature. 
She  is  the  Dryad,  the  Nymph  who  lives  in  the  tree  and  is  born  and  dies 
with  it,  but  is  as  yet  unconscious  of  the  tree,  that  is,  of  her  sex.  Her 
"  young  sex  is  yet  but  in  her  soul,"  and  is  like  the  juice  of  the  grape  which 
has  not  yet  fermented  into  wine,  or  the  calm  air  which  sleeps  undisturbed. 
The  mystery  of  womanhood,  which  attracts  and  yet,  in  its  own  protection, 
repulses  man,  will  not  come  to  her  until  after  the  changes  of  years.  It  is 
the  Aphrodite  lying  in  unawakened  beauty  before  she  rises  as  a  goddess 
from  the  sea.  ("  Facilely  "  appears  to  have  the  strained  meaning  "  easy- 
to  understand  "  or  "  simply  "  ;  the  word  "  gated,"  "  confined,"  is  a  curious 
use  of  a  university  word  :  the  Oxford  or  Cambridge  undergraduate,  who  has 
misbehaved,  may  be  "  gated  "  for  a  period,  i.e.,  confined  to  the  precincts 
of  his  own  college.  "  The  dragon  to  its  own  Hesperides  " — the  Hesperides 
were  maidens  who  guarded  the  golden  apples  of  love  and  fruitfulness,  which 
Earth  had  given  to  Hera  on  her  marriage  to  Zeus.  The  maidens  were 
protected  by  a  dragon.  Here  the  dragon  is  the  maiden's  own  sensitive 
reserve  and  self-protecting  nature,  which  enable  her  to  protect  herself. 
("  Conched,"  Aphrodite  is  lying  in  her  shell.) 


WOMEN,  as  they  are  like  riddles  in  being  unintelligible,  so 
generally  resemble  them  in  this,  that  they  please  us  no  longer 
when  once  we  know  them. 

ALEXANDER   POPE. 


SEELEY— THOMSON  95 

COMPARE  the  ancient  with  the  modern  world ;  "  Look  on  this 
picture,  and  on  that,"  One  broad  distinction  in  the  characters 
of  men  forces  itself  into  prominence.  Among  all  the  men  of  the 
ancient  heathen  world  there  were  scarcely  one  or  two  to  whom 
we  might  venture  to  apply  the  epithet  "holy."  In  other  words, 
there  were  not  more  than  one  or  two,  if  any,  who  besides  being 
virtuous  in  their  actions  were  possessed  with  an  unaffected  enthu- 
siasm of  goodness,  and  besides  abstaining  from  vice  regarded 
even  a  vicious  thought  with  horror.  Probably  no  one  will 
deny  that  in  Christian  countries  this  higher-toned  goodness, 
which  we  call  holiness,  has  existed.  Few  will  maintain  that  it 
has  been  exceedingly  rare.  Perhaps  the  truth  is,  that  there  has 
scarcely  been  a  town  in  any  Christian  country  since  the  time 
of  Christ  where  a  century  has  passed  without  exhibiting  a  character 
of  such  elevation  that  his  mere  presence  has  shamed  the  bad 
and  made  the  good  better,  and  has  been  felt  at  times  like  the 
presence  of  God  Himself.  And  if  this  be  so,  has  Christ  failed  ? 
or  can  Christianity  die  ? 

SIR  J.  R.  SEEXEY 

(Ecce  Homo). 

The   quotation  from  Hamlet   should   read,   "  Look   here,   upon   this 
picture,  and  on  this." 


DAY 

WAKING  one  morning 
In  a  pleasant  land, 
By  a  river  flowing 
Over  golden  sand  : — 

Whence  flow  ye,  waters, 
O'er  your  golden  sand  ? 
We  come  flowing 
From  the  Silent  Land. 

Whither  flow  ye,  waters, 
O'er  your  golden  sand  ? 
We  go  flowing 
To  the  Silent  Land. 

And  what  is  this  fair  realm  ? 
A  grain  of  golden  sand 
In  the  great  darkness 
Of  the  Silent  Land. 

JAMES  THOMSON  ("  B.V.") 


o6  SMITH  AND  OTHERS 

FOR  there  is  not  a  lie,  spite  of  God's  high  decree, 
But  has  made  its  nest  sure  on  some  branch  of  our  tree, 
And  has  some  vested  right  to  exist  in  the  land  : 
And  many  will  have  it  the  tree  could  not  stand, 
If  the  sticks,  straws,  and  feathers,  that  sheltered  the  wrong, 
Were    swept  from  the  boughs  they  have  cumbered  so  long. 

W.  C.  SMITH 
(Borland  Hall). 


I  SHALL  be  old  and  ugly  one  day,  and  I  shall  look  for  man's 
chivalrous  help,  but  I  shall  not  find  it.      The  bees  are  very 
1     attentive  to  the  flowers  till  their  honey  is  done,  and  then  they 
fly  over  them. 

OUVE   SCHREINER 

(The  Story  of  an  African  Farm.) 


THERE  are  some  of  us  who  in  after  years  say  to  Fate  "  Now 
deal  us  your  hardest  blow,  give  us  what  you  will ;  but  let  us 
never  again  suffer  as  we  suffered  when  we  were  children." 

OUVE  SCHREINER 

(The  Story  of  an  African  Farm). 


IL  n'a  jamais  fait  couler  larmes  a  personne  sauf  a  sa  mort. 
(He  never  caused  any  one  to  shed  tears,  except  at  his  death.) 
B.  Seebohm's  Life  of  Grellet. 

Epitapli  on  Petion,  President  of  Hayti  about  1816. 


.  .  .  THAT  pleasureless  yielding  to  the  small  solicitations 
of  circumstance,  which  is  a  commoner  history  of  perdition  than 
any  single  momentous  bargain. 

GEORGE  ELIOT 

(Middlemarch) . 


IF  there  are  two  things  not  to  be  hidden — love  and  a  cough — 
I  say  there  is  a  third,  and  that  is  ignorance,  when  one  is  obliged 
to  do  something  besides  wagging  his  head. 

GEORGE  EWOT 
(Romola — Nello   speaking) . 


WORDSWORTH  AND  OTHERS  97 

George  Eliot  is  quoting  the  Latin  proverb,  Amor  tusstsque  non  celantur, 
It  is  also  found  in  George  Herbert's  Jacula  Prudentum,  1640.  The  same 
proverb  appears  with  all  sorts  of  variations,  "  love  and  a  sneeze,"  "  love 
and  smoke,"  "  love  and  a  red  nose,"  "  love  and  poverty,"  etc.,  being  the 
things  that  cannot  be  hidden.  "  Love  and  murder  will  out "  (Congreve, 
The  Double  Dealer,  Act  IV,  2).  (I  took  these  instances  from  some  collec- 
tion of  proverbs.) 


WE  Men,  who  in  our  morn  of  youth  defied 
The  elements,  must  vanish  ; — be  it  so  ! 

Enough,  if  something  from  our  hands  have  power 
To  live,  and  act,  and  serve  the  future  hour  : 
And  if,  as  toward  the  silent  tomb  we  go, 

Through  love,  through  hope,  and  faith's  transcendent  dower, 
We  feel  that  we  are  greater  than  we  know. 

WORDSWORTH 
(After-Thought). 


YOU  can't  turn  curds  to  milk  again, 
Nor  Now,  by  wishing,  back  to  Then ; 
And,  having  tasted  stolen  honey, 
You  can't  buy  innocence  for  money. 

GEORGE  ELIOT 
(Felix   Holt). 


THE  gods  are  brethren.     Wlieresoe'er 
They  set  their  shrines  of  love  or  fear 
In  Grecian  woods,  by  banks  of  Nile, 
Where  cold  snows  sleep  or  roses  smile, 
The  gods  are  brethren.     Zeus  the  Sire 
Was  fashioned  of  the  self -same  fire 
As  Odin,  He,  whom  Ind  brought  forth, 
Hath  his  pale  kinsman  east  and  north  ; 
And  more  than  one,  since  life  began, 
Hath  known  Christ's  agony  for  Man. 
The  gods  are  brethren.     Kin  by  fate, 
In  gentleness  as  well  as  hate, 
'Mid  heights  that  only  Thought  may  climb 

They  come,  they  go  ;  they  are,  or  seem  ; 
Each,  rainbow'd  from  the  rack  of  Time, 

Casts  broken  lights  across  God's  Dream. 

R.  BUCHANAN 
(Balder   the    Beautiful]. 

7 


98  DICKENS— LOWEI/L 

"  YOU  remember  Tom  Martin,  Neddy  ?  Bless  my  dear  eyes," 
said  Mr.  Roker,  shaking  his  head  slowly  from  side  to  side,  and 
gazing  abstractedly  out  of  the  grated  window  before  him,  as  if 
he  were  fondly  recalling  some  peaceful  scene  of  his  early  youth  ; 
"  it  seems  but  yesterday  that  he  whopped  the  coal-heaver  down 
Fox-under-the-hill,  by  the  wharf  there.  I  think  I  can  see  him 
now,  a-coming  up  the  Strand  between  the  two  street-keepers, 
a  little  sobered  by  his  bruising,  with  a  patch  o'  winegar  and  brown 
paper  over  his  right  eyelid,  and  that  'ere  lovely  bull-dog,  as  pinned 
the  little  boy  arterwards,  a-following  at  his  heels.  What  a  rum 
thing  Time  "is,  ain't  it,  Neddy  ?  " 

CHARGES  DICKENS 
(Pickwick  Papers). 

Mr.  Roker  is  a  turnkey  in  the  Fleet  prison. 


THE  COURTIN' 

GOD  makes  sech  nights,  all  white  an'  still 

Fur'z  you  can  look  or  listen, 
Moonshine  an'  snow  on  field  an'  hill, 

All  silence  an'  all  glisten. 

Zekle    crep'    up    quite    unbeknown 
An'  peeked  in  thru'  the  winder, 

An'  there  sot  Huldy  all  alone, 
'Ith  no  one  nigh  to  hender. 

A  fireplace  filled  the  room's  one  side 
With  half  a  cord  o'  wood  in — 

There  warn't  no  stoves  (till  comfort  died) 
To  bake  ye  to  a  puddin'. 

The  wa'nut  logs  shot  sparkles  out 
Towards  the  pootiest,  bless  her, 

An'  leetle  flames  danced  all  about 
The  chiny  on  the  dresser.  .  .  . 

The  very  room,  coz  she  was  in. 

Seemed  warm  from  floor  to  ceilin', 
An'  she  looked  full  ez  rosy  agin 

Ez  the  apples  she  was  peelin'.  .  . 


LOWELL  99 


He  was  six  foot  o'  man,  Ai, 
Clear  grit  an'  human  natur   ; 

None  couldn't  quicker  pitch  a  ton 
Nor  dror  a  furrer  straighter. 


He'd  sparked  it  with  full  twenty  gals, 
He'd  squired  'em,  danced  'em,  druv  'em, 

Fust  this  one,   an'  then  thet,  by  spells — 
All  is,  he  couldn't  love  'em. 


But  long  o'  her  his  veins  'ould  run 
All  crinkly  like  curled  maple, 

The  side  she  breshed  felt  full  o'  sun 
Ez  a  south  slope  in  Ap'il. 

She  thought  no  v'ice  hed  sech  a  swing 

Ez  hisn  in  the  choir  ; 
My  !  when  he  made  Ole  Hundred  ring, 

She    knowed   the    Lord   was    nigher. 


An'  she'd  blush  scarlit,  right  hi  prayer, 
When  her  new  meetin'-bunnet 

Felt  somehow  thru'  its  crown  a  pair 
O'  blue  eyes  sot  upon  it. 

Thet  night,  I  tell  ye,  she  looked  some  \ 
She  seemed  to  've  gut  a  new  soul, 

For  she  felt  sartin-sure  he'd  come, 
Down  to  her  very  shoe-sole. 

She  heered  a  foot,  an'  knowed  it  tu, 

A-raspin'  on  the  scraper, — 
All  ways  to  once  her  feelins  flew 

I/ike  sparks  in  burnt-up  paper. 

He  kin'  o'  1'itered  on  the  mat, 
Some  doubtfle  o'  the  sekle, 

His  heart  kep'  goin'  pity-pat, 
But  hern  went  pity  Zekle. 

An'  yit  she  gin  her  cheer  a  jerk 
Ez  though  she  wished  him  furder. 

An'  on  her  apples  kep'  to  work, 
Parin'  away  like  murder. 


LOWELL— STERNE 

'  You  want  to  see  my  Pa,  I  s'ppse  ?  " 

"Wai.  .  .  no.  .  .  I  come  designin' " — 
'  To  see  my  Ma  ?     She's  sprinklin'  clo'es 
Agin  to-morrer's  i'nin  '  ." 

To  say  why  gals  acts  so  or  so, 
Or  don't,  'ould  be  presumin' ; 

Mebby  to  mean  yes  an'  say  no 
Comes  nateral  to  women. 


He  stood  a  spell  on  one  foot  fust, 
Then  stood  a  spell  on  t'other, 

An'  on  which  one  he  felt  the  wust 
He  couldn't  ha'  told  ye  nuther 

Sez  he,  "I'd  better  call  agin  ;  " 
Sez  she,  "  Think  likely.  Mister  ;  " 

Thet  last  word  pricked  him  like  a  pin, 
An'  .  .  Wai  he  up  an'  kist  her. 

When  Ma  bimeby  upon  'em  slips, 

Huldy  sot  pale  ez  ashes, 
All  kin'  o'  smily  roun'  the  lips 

An'  teary  roun'  the  lashes.  .  .  . 

The  blood  clost  roun'  her  heart  felt  glued 
Too  tight  for  all  expressin', 

Till  mother  see  how  metters  stood, 
An'  gin  'em  both  her  blessin'. 

Then  her  red  come  back  like  the  tide, 

Down  to  the  Bay  o'  Fundy, 
An'  all  I  know  is  they  was  cried 

In  meetin'  come  nex'  Sunday. 

J.  RUSSEU, 


WHAT  is  the  life  of  man  ?  Is  it  not  to  turn  from  side  to  side  ? 
From  sorrow  to  sorrow  ?  To  button  up  one  cause  of  vexation 
and  unbutton  another  ? 

STERNE 

(Tristram  Shandy). 


BAILEY  AND  OTHERS 

I  KNOW  thy  heart  by  heart. 

P.  J.  BAILEY 
(Festus). 


HERBERT  SPENCER'S  "  FIRST  PRINCIPLES." 

MR.  SPENCER'S  genesis  of  the  universe  from  chaos  to  the 

Crimean  War For  our  own  part,  we  must  confess 

that  this  new  book  of  Genesis  appears  to  us  no  more  credible  than 
the  old. 

J .  MARTINEAU 
(Science,  Nescience,  and  Faith). 


JAMES  MILL. 

DID  the  facts  of  consciousness  stand,  as  he  represents  them, 
his  method  would  work.  He  satisfactorily  explains — the  wrong 
human  nature. 

J.  MARTINEAU 

(Essay  on  John  Stuart  Mill). 


(REFERRING  to  those  who  insist  on  the  practical  as  against 
the  theoretical.)  This  solitary  term  ("practical  ")  serves  a" large 
number  of  persons  as  a  substitute  for  all  patient  and  steady 
thought ;  and,  at  all  events,  instead  of  meaning  that  wliich  is 
useful  as  opposed  to  that  which  is  useless,  it  constantly  signifies 
that  of  which  the  use  is  grossly  and  immediately  palpable,  as 
distinguished  from  that  of  which  the  usefulness  can  only  be  dis- 
cerned after  attention  and  exertion. 

SIR  HENRY  MAINE. 


(MEN  are)  dragged  along  the  physiological  history,  because 
easy  to  conceive,  and  baffled  by  the  spiritual,  because  it  has  no 
pictures  to  help  it. 

J.  MARTINEAU 
(Hours  of  Thought,  I,  100). 


103  BAIN  AND  OTHERS 

AS  psychology  comprises  all  our  sensibilities,  pleasures, 
affections,  aspirations,  capacities,  it  is  thought  on  that  ground 
to  have  a  special  nobility  and  greatness,  and  a  special  power 
of  evoking  in  the  student  the  feelings  themselves.  The  mathe- 
matician, dealing  with  conic  sections,  spirals,  and  differential 
equations,  is  in  danger  of  being  ultimately  resolved  into  a  function 
or  a  co-efficient :  the  metaphysician,  by  investigating  conscience, 
must  become  conscientious  ;  driving  fat  oxen  is  the  way  to  grow 
fat. 

ALEXANDER  BAIN  (1818-1903) 
(Contemporary  Review,  April  1877). 

THERE)  is  a  crude  absurd  materialism  abroad  which  hasn't 
yet  learned  the  fundamental  difference  between  Mind  and  Matter. 
It  is  altogether  incomprehensible  how  any  material  processes 
can  beget  sensations  and  feelings  and  thoughts  ;  it  is  altogether 
incomprehensible  how  you  arose  or  I  arose.  Listen  to  Spencer  : — 
' '  Were  we  compelled  to  choose  between  the  alternatives  of  trans- 
lating mental  phenomena  into  physical  phenomena,  or  of  trans- 
lating physical  phenomena  into  mental  phenomena,  the  latter 
alternative  would  seem  the  more  preferable  oftthe  two.  .  .  Hence 
though  of  the  two  it  seems  easier  to  translate  so-called  Matter 
into  so-called  Spirit,  than  to  translate  so-called  Spirit  into  so- 
called  Matter  (which  latter  is,  indeed,  wholly  impossible),  yet  no 
translation  can  carry  us  beyond  our  symbols." 

RICHARD  HODGSOX 
(Letter,  March  21,  1880). 

Clown.  What  is  the  opinion  of  Pythagoras  concerning  wild- 
fowl ? 

Malvolio.  That  the  soul  of  our  grandam  might  haply  inhabit 
a  bird. 

Clown.     What  thinkest  thou  of  his  opinion  ? 

Malvolio.  I  think  nobly  of  the  soul,  and  no  way  approve 
his  opinion. 

Clown.     Fare  thee  well.     Remain  thou   still  in  darkness. 

SHAKESPEARE 
(Twelfth  Night.  IV,  2). 

AS  the  old  hermit  of  Prague,  that  never  saw  pen  and  ink, 
very  wittily  said  to  a  niece  of  King  Gorboduc,  "  That,  that  is,  is." 

SHAKESPEARE 
(Twelfth  Night,  IV,   2). 


SPENCER  103 

WHAT  IS  LOVE  ? 

THE  passion  which  unites  the  sexes  .  .  is  the  most  compound, 
and  therefore  the  most  powerful  of  all  the  feelings.  Added 
to  the  purely  physical  elements  of  it  are,  first,  those  highly 

complex  impressions  produced  by  personal  beauty With 

this  there  is  united  the  complex  sentiment  which  we  term  affection 
— a  sentiment  which,  as  it  can  exist  between  those  of  the  same 
sex,  must  be  regarded  as  an  independent  sentiment.  .  .  Then 
there  is  the  sentiment  of  admiration,  respect,  or  reverence.  .  . 
There  comes  next  the  feeling  called  love  of  approbation.  To 
be  preferred  above  all  the  world,  and  that  by  one  admired  above 
all  others,  is  to  have  the  love  of  approbation  gratified  in  a  degree 
passing  every  previous  experience.  .  .  .  Further,  the  allied 
emotion  of  self-esteem  comes  into  play.  To  have  succeeded  in 
gaming  such  attachment  from,  and  sway  over,  another  is  a 
proof  of  power  which  cannot  fail  agreeably  to  excite  the  amour 
propre.  Yet  again,  the  proprietary  feeling  has  its  share  in  the 
general  activity  :  there  is  the  pleasure  of  possession — the  two 
belong  to  each  other.  Once  more,  the  relation  allows  of  an 
extended  liberty  of  action.  Towards  other  persons  a  restrained 
behaviour  is  requisite.  Round  each  there  is  a  subtle  boundary 
that  may  not  be  crossed — an  individuality  on  which  none  may 
trespass.  But  in  this  case  the  barriers  are  thrown  down  ;  and  thus 
the  love  of  unrestrained  activity  is  gratified.  Finally  there  is  an 
exaltation  of  the  sympathies.  Egoistic  pleasures  of  all  kinds 
are  doubled  by  another's  sympathetic  participation  ;  and  the 
pleasures  of  another  are  added  to  the  egoistic  pleasures.  Thus, 
round  the  physical  feeling,  forming  the  nucleus  of  the  whole,  are 
gathered  the  feelings  produced  by  personal  beauty,  that 
constituting  simple  attachment,  those  of  reverence,  of  love  of 
approbation,  of  self-esteem,  of  property,  of  love  of  freedom, 
of  sympathy.  These,  all  greatly  exalted,  and  severally  tending 
to  reflect  their  excitements  on  one  another,  unite  to  form  the 
mental  state  we  call  lyove. 

HERBERT  SPENCER 
(Principles  of  Psychology,  3rd  Ed.,  Vol.  I,  487). 

The  heading  is,  of  course,  mine — not  Spencer's. 


WHAT  AM  I  ? 

THE  aggregate  of  feelings  and  ideas,  constituting  the  mental  I, 
have  not  in  themselves  the  principle  of  cohesion  holding  them 
together  as  a  whole  ;  but  the  /  which  continuously  survives 
as  the  subject  of  these  changing  states  is  that  portion  of  the 


104  BROWNING  AND  OTHERS 

Unknowable  Power,  which  is  statically  conditioned  in  (my 
particular  one  of  those)  special  nervous  structures  pervaded 
by  a  dynamically -conditioned  portion  of  the  Unknowable  Power 
called  energy. 

HERBERT  SPENCER 
(Principles  of  Psychology,  3rd  Ed.,  Vol.  II,  504). 

The  heading  and  words  in  brackets  are  mine.  As  the  reader  may 
at  any  time  be  asked  "  What  are  you  ?  "  it  would  be  well  to  be  ready  with 
a  simple  reply. 


NEW  truths,  old  truths  !  sirs,  there  is  nothing  new  possible 
to  be  revealed  to  us  in  the  moral  world  ;  we  know  all  we  shall 
ever  know  :  and  it  is  for  simply  reminding  us,  by  their  various 
respective  expedients,  how  we  do  know  this  and  the  other  matter, 
that  men  get  called  prophets,  poets,  and  the  like.  A  philosopher's 
life  is  spent  in  discovering  that,  of  the  half-dozen  truths  he  knew 
when  a  child,  such  an  one  is  a  lie,  as  the  world  states  it  in  set 
terms  ;  and  then,  after  a  weary  lapse  of  years,  and  plenty  of  hard- 
thinking,  it  becomes  a  truth  again  after  all,  as  he  happens  to  newly 
consider  it  and  view  it  in  a  different  relation  with  the  others  : 
and  so  he  restates  it,  to  the  confusion  of  somebody  else  in  good 
time.  As  for  adding  to  the  original  stock  of  truths — impossible  ! 

R.  BROWNING 
(A  Soul's  Tragedy). 


WHEN  Bishop  Berkeley  said  there  was  no  matter, 
And  proved  it,  'twas  no  matter  what  he  said 

BYRON. 
(Don  Juan,  Canto  XI) 


THE  law  of  equal  freedom  which  Herbert  Spencer  deduces 
is  binding  only  upon  those  who  admit  both  that  human  happiness 
is  the  Divine  Will,  and  that  we  should  act  in  accordance  with  the 
Divine  Will.  Why  should  I  obey  this  law  ?  Because  without 
such  obedience  human  happiness  cannot  be  complete.  Why 
should  I  aim  at  human  happiness  ?  Because  human  happiness 
is  the  Divine  Will.  The  inexorable  why  pursues  us  here — Why 
should  I  aim  at  the  fulfilment  of  the  Divine  Will  ?  To  this 
question  there  seems  no  satisfactory  reply  but  that  it  is  for  my 
own  happiness  to  do  so. 

RICHARD  HODGSON 

(Unpublished  Essay,    1879). 


HODGSON  AND  OTHERS  105 

I  HAVE  no  ambition  to  wander  into  the  inane  and  usurp  the 
sceptre  of  the  dim  Hegel,  situated  Nowhere,  with  pure  Notlu'ng 
behind  him,  and  pure  Being  before  him,  steadfastly  and  vainly 
endeavouring  with  his  Werden  to  stop  the  sand-flowing  of  smiling 
Time.  RICHARD  HODGSON 

(Early    Unpublished  Essay) . 

the 
lange- 
less,  but  tells  and  does  nothing. 


Werien  in  Hegel  is  usually  translated  "  Becoming."     To  Hegel 
truth  of  the  world  is  found  in  life  or  movement,  not  in  Being  which  is  chai 


EDWIN  (afterwards  Sir  Edwin)  Arnold  was  with  Herbert 
Spencer  on  a  Nile  steamer.  Spencer  was  dyspeptic  and  irritable  ; 
Arnold  was  a  nocturnal  bird,  pacing  the  deck  alone  in  a  long 

fown  and  smoking  a  long  pipe.     Suddenly  appeared  a  white 
gure.  Spencer  in  his  night-shirt,  who  in  the  bad  light  took 
Arnold  for  a  sailor  (and  Arnold  did  not  undeceive  him). 
'  Hi  !   there  !  " 
'  Ay,   ay,  Sir." 

'  What  are  the  men  making  that  noise  there  forward  for  ?  " 
'  Cleaning  the  engines,  Sir." 

'Just   tell  them   not   to   make   such   a    row,    keeping  good 
Christians  from  their  sleep  at  this  time  of  night." 
"  Ay,  Ay,  Sir." 
(Disappearance  of  ghost ;  joke  next  morning,) 

(Told  by  Arnold  to  Hodgson,  June,  1884). 

The  great  agnostic,  usually  most  precise  in  his  language,  describes 
himself  as  a  "  good  Christian  "  ! 

THE  very  law  which  moulds  a  tear 
And  bids  it  trickle  from  its  source, — 
That  law  preserves  the  earth  a  sphere, 
And  guides  the  planets  in  their  course. 

SAMTJEI,  ROGERS 
(On  a  Tear). 

WIIXIAM   BI<AKE. 

HE  came  to  the  desert  of  I/ondon  town 

Grey  miles  long  ; 
He  wander 'd  up  and  he  wander 'd  down, 

Singing  a  quiet  song, 

He  came  to  the  desert  of  London  Town, 

Mirk  miles  broad  ; 
He  wandered  up  and  he  wandered  down. 

Ever  alone  with  God. 


106  THOMSON— BLAKE; 

There  were  thousands  and  thousands  of  human  kind 

In  this  desert  of  brick  and  stone  : 
But  some  were  deaf  and  some  were  blind, 

And  he  was  there  alone. 

At  length  the  good  hour  came  ;  he  died 

As  he  had  lived,  alone  : 
He  was  not  miss'd  from  the  desert  wide, — 

Perhaps  he  was  found  at  the  Throne. 

JAMES  THOMSON  ("B.V."). 

Tbe  desert  0}  London  T  own — Magna  civitas,  wagna  solitudo  :  "  a 
great  city  is  a  great  solitude." 

It  is  strange  to  think  that  these  verses  (and  especially  the  last  verse) 
were  written  by  the  pessimist  who  wrote  in  all  sincerity  the  terrible  lines 
in  Pt.  VITI  of  "  The  City  of  Dreadful  Night." 


FAREWELL,  green  fields  and  happy  grove, 
Where  flocks  have  ta'en  delight ; 
Where  lambs  have  nibbled,  silent  move 
The  feet  of   angels  bright ; 

Unseen,  they  pour  blessing 

And  joy  without  ceasing, 

On  each  bud  and  blossom. 

And  each  sleeping  bosom. 

They  look  in  every  thoughtless  nest, 

Where  birds  are  covered  warm  ; 

They  visit  caves  of  every  beast, 

To  keep  them  all  from  harm  : 
If  they  see  any  weeping 
That  should  have  been  sleeping, 
They  pour  sleep  on  their  head, 
And  sit  down  by  their  bed. 

When  wolves  and  tigers  howl  for  prey, 
They  pitying  stand  and  weep  ; 
Seeking  to  drive  their  thirst  away, 
,  And  keep  them  from  the  sheep, 
But  if  they  rush  dreadful, 
The  angels,  most  heedful, 
Receive   each  mild  spirit, 
New  worlds  to  inherit. 

Wow  AM  BLAKE 
(Night). 


VIRGIL  AND  OTHERS  107 

SIC  vos  non  vobis  nidificatis,  aves, 
Sic   vos   non   vobis   vellera   fertis,    oves, 
Sic    vos  non  vobis  mellificatis,  apes, 
Sic    vos  non  vobis  fertis  aratra,  boves. 

(So  you,  birds,  build  nests— not  for  yourselves, 
So  you,  sheep,  grow  fleeces — not  for  yourselves, 
So  you,  bees,  make  honey — not  for  yourselves, 
So  you,  oxen,  draw  the  plough — not  for  yourselves.) 

VIRGIL. 

According  to  Donatus,  Virgil  wrote  a  couplet  in  praise  of  Caesar  and 
posted  it  anonymously  on  the  portals  of  the  palace  (3 1  B.C.).  Bathyllus 
gave  himself  out  as  the  author  of  this  couplet,  and  on  that  account  received 
a  present  from  Caesar.  Next  night  Sic  vos  non  vobis  ("  So  you  not  for 
you")  was  found  written  four  times  in  the  same  place.  The  Romans  were 
puzzled  as  to  what  was  meant  by  these  words,  until  Virgil  came  forward 
and  completed  the  verse — adding  a  preliminary  line,  Hos  ego  versiculosfeci, 
tulit  alter  bonores,  "  I  wrote  the  lines,  another  wears  the  bays." 

Shelley  in  Song  to  the  Men  of  England  wrote  as  a  socialist : 
The  seed  ye  sow,  another  reaps  ; 
The  wealth  ye  find,  another  keeps  ; 
The  robes  ye  weave,  another  wears  ; 
The  arms  ye  forge,  another  bears. 

In  previous  verses  he  refers  to  bees,  and,  of  course,  the  above  quotation 
was  in  his  mind. 


I  KNOW,  of  late  experience  taught,  that  him 
Who  is  my  foe  I  must  but  hate  as  one 
Whom  I  may  yet  call  Friend  :  and  him  who  loves  me 
Will  I  but  serve  and  cherish  as  a  man 
Whose  love  is  not  abiding.     Few  be  they 
Who,  reaching  friendship's  port,  have  there  found  rest. 

SOPHOCIvES 
(Ajax). 
This  is  from  C.  S.  Calverley's  fine  translation  of  the  speech  of  Ajax. 


A  MAIDEN'S  heart  is  as  champagne,  ever  aspiring  and  struggling 

upwards, 
And  it  needeth  that  its  motions  be  checked  by  the  silvered  cork 

of  Propriety  : 

He  that  can  afford  the  price,  his  be  the  precious  treasure, 
Let  him  drink  deeply  of  its  sweetness,  nor  grumble  if  it  tasteth 

of  the  cork. 

C.  S.  CAI.VERI.EY. 

Imitating  the  now-forgotten  Martin  Tupper. 


io8  BROWNE— HODGSON 

WHOSOEVER  is  harmonically  composed  delights  in  harmony .  . 
Even  that  vulgar  and  Tavern  Musick,  which  makes  one  man 
merry,  another  mad,  strikes  in  me  a  deep  fit  of  devotion,  and 
a  profound  contemplation  of  the  First  Composer.  .  There  is 
something  in  it  of  Divinity  more  than  the  ear  discovers  :  it  is  an 
Hieroglyphical  and  shadowed  lesson  of  the  whole  World,  and 
creatures  of  God  ;  such  a  melody  to  the  ear  as  the  whole  World, 
well  understood,  would  afford  the  understanding.  In  brief. 
it  is  a  sensible  fit  of  that  harmony  which  intellectually  sounds 
in  the  ears  of  God.  SlR  THO^  BROWNE 

(Religio    Medici}. 


(SPEAKING  of  an  Essay  on  Wordsworth  he  is  about  to  write 
for  some  Melbourne  society)  I  purpose  describing  briefly  the 
poetic  tendencies,  or  rather  the  nnpoetic  tendencies,  of  the 
1 8th  Century,  and  the  new  school  beginning  to  manifest  itself 
in  Cowper.  I  shall  then  refer  to  W.'s  principles — shall  banish 
to  a  future  time  the  working  out  of  the  psychological  connection 
between  forms  of  nature  and  the  human  soul — shall  banish 
also  the  feelings,  the  elementary  feelings,  of  humanity,  which 
W.  drew  powerful  attention  to,  and  confine  myself  to  pointing 
out  those  characteristics  in  external  nature  which  he  took  note 
of.  These  produce  corresponding  feelings  in  the  "  human," 
and  some  of  them  are  beauty,  silence  and  calm,  joyousness,  gener- 
osity, freedom,  grandeur,  and  Spirituality.  These  are  found  in 
Nature,  and  W.  saw  them,  and  in  the  growing  familiarity  with 
them  a  man's  soul  becomes  beautiful,  calm,  joyous,  generous, 
free,  grand,  and  spiritual.  The  first  ones,  of  course,  all  depend  on 
and  grow  from  the  last,  and  the  Spirituality  is  God  immanent. 
This  last,  as  the  root  of  all  the  others,  will  merit  special  attention 
— it  exhibits  W.'s  poetico-philosophy  so  far  as  it  regards  the  work 
of  Nature  upon  man  ;  and  includes  too  the  Platonic  Reminis- 
cence business.  (Here  follows  personal  chit-chat.)  I  think  we 
might  add  the  "  supreme  loftiness  of  labour  "  to  the  foregoing 
elements  in  Nature.  In  the  Gipsies  (I  give  both  readings) 

O  better  wrong  and  strife, 
Better  vain  deeds  or  evil  than  such  life  ! 
The  silent  heavens  have  goings-on  ; 
The  stars  have  tasks — but  these  have  none  ! 

Oh,  better  wrong  and  strife 
(By  nature  transient)  than  this  torpid  life  : 
Life  which  the  very  stars  reprove 
As  on  their  silent  tasks  they  move. 

R.  HODGSON 
(Letter,  1877,  when  aged  21) 


WORDSWORTH— GRAY  109 

In  1877  Blake  was  little  appreciated.  (T  remember  only  that  in 
our  children's  books  we  had  "  Tiger,  Tiger  burning  bright  "—and  it  was  a 
strange  thing  to  include  in  such  books  a  poem  which  raises  the  problems  of 
the  existence  of  evil  and  the  nature  of  God).  Hence  it  will  be  evident 
why  so  keen  a  student  of  poetry  as  Hodgson  did  not  couple  Blake  with 
Cowper  as  a  precursor  of  the  Romantic  Revival.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
Blake  had  more  of  the  "  Romantic  "  spirit  than  Cowper,  and  really  preceded 
him,  for  the  poor  verse  that  Cowper  published  the  year  before  Blake's 
Poetical  Sketches  need  not  be  considered.  While  still  in  his  teens  Blake 
wrote  ("  To  the  Muses  ")  : 

.  .  Fair  Nine,  forsaking  Poetry, 
How  have  you  left  the  ancient  love 

That  bards  of  old  enjoyed  in  you ! 
The  languid  strings  do  scarcely  move, 

The  sound  is  forced,  the  notes  are  few. 

Curiously  enough  Gray  also  had  in  him  an  element  of  the  Romantic 
which  he  suppressed.  It  is  very  remarkable  that  in  his  Elegy  (published 
1751)  he  cut  out  the  following  verse: 

There  scattered  oft,  the  earliest  of  the  year, 

By  hands  unseen  are  showers  of  violets  found  ; 
The  redbreast  loves  to  build  and  warble  there, 
And  little  footsteps  lightly  print  the  ground. 


LOVE  had  he  found  in  huts  where  poor  men  lie  ; 
His  daily  teachers  had  been  woods  and  rills, 
The  silence  that  is  in  the  starry  sky, 
The  sleep  that  is  among  the  lonely  hills. 

WORDSWORTH 
(Song  at  the  Feast  of  Brougham  Castle). 


AMBITION  tempts  to  rise, 
Then  whirls  the  wretch  from  high 
To  bitter  Scorn  a  sacrifice 
And  grinning  Infamy. 

THOMAS  GRAY 
(On  a  Distant  Prospect  of  Eton  College). 

Slightly  altered  verbally  to  admit  of  quotation. 


no  LYALL 

MEDITATIONS   OF   A   HINDU   PRINCE 

ALL  the  world  over,  I  wonder,  in  lands  that  I  never  have  trod, 
Are  the  people  eternally  seeking  for  the  signs  and  steps  of  a  God  ? 
Westward  across  the  ocean,  and  Northward  across  the  snow, 
Do  they  all  stand  gazing,  as  ever,  and  what  do  the  wisest  know  ? 

Here,  in  this  mystical  India,  the  deities  hover  and  swann 
Like  the  wild   bees  heard   in  the  tree-tops,  or  the  gusts  of  a 

gathering  storm  ; 

In  the  air  men  hear  their  voices,  their  feet  on  the  rocks  are  seen, 
Yet  we  all  say,  "  Whence  is  the  message,  and  what  may  the 

wonders  mean  ?  " 


A  million  shrines  stand  open,  and  ever  the  censer  swings. 

As  they  bow  to  a  mystic  symbol,  or  the  figures  of  ancient  kings  ; 

And  the  incense  rises  ever,  and  rises  the  endless  cry 

Of  those  who  are  heavy-laden,  and  of  cowards  loth  to  die. 


For  the  Destiny  drives  us  together,  like  deer  in  a  pass  of  the  hills, 
Above  is  the  sky,  and  around  us  the  sound  of  the  shot  that  kills  ; 
Pushed  by  a  Power  we  see  not,  and  struck  by  a  hand  unknown, 
We  pray  to  the  trees  for  shelter,  and  press  our  lips  to  a  stone. 


The  trees  wave  a  shadowy  answer,  and  the  rock  frowns  hollow 

and  grim, 
And  the  form  and  the  nod  of  the  demon  are  caught  in  the  twilight 

dim  ; 

And  we  look  to  the  sunlight  falling  afar  on  the  mountain  crest, 
Is  there  never  a  path  runs  upward  to  a  refuge  there  and  a  rest  ? 


The  path,  ah  !  who  has  shown  it,  and  which  is  the  faithful  guide  ? 
The  haven,  ah  !  who  has  known  it  ?  for  steep  is  the  mountain  side. 
Forever  the  shot  strikes  surely,  and  ever  the  wasted  breath 
Of  the  praying  multitiide  rises,  whose  answer  is  only  death. 


Here  are  the  tombs  of  my  kinsfolk,  the  fruit  of  an  ancient  name. 
Chiefs  who  were  slain  on  the  war-field,  and  women  who  died 

in  flame  ; 
They  are  gods,  these  kings  of  the  foretime,  they  are  spirits  who 

guard   our   race, 
Ever  I  watch  and  worship— they  sit  with  a  marble  face. 


LYALL  in 

And  the  myriad  idols  around  me,  and  the  legion  of  muttering 

priests, 

The  revels  and  rites  unholy,  the  dark,  unspeakable  feasts  ! 
What  have  they  wrung  from  the  Silence  ?     Hath  even  a  whisper 

come 
Of  the  secret,  Whence  and  Whither  ?     Alas  !  for  the  gods  are 

dumb. 


Shall  I  list  to  the  word  of  the  English,  who  come  from  the  utter- 
most sea  ? 

"  The  Secret,  hath  it  been  told  you,  and  what  is  yoiir  message 
to  me  ?  " 

It  is  nought  but  the  wide-world  story  how  the  earth  and  the 
heavens  began, 

How  the  gods  are  glad  and  angry,  and  a  Deity  once  was  man. 


I  had  thought,  "  Perchance  in  the  cities  where  the  rulers  of  India 

dwell, 
Whose  orders  flash  from  the  far  land,  who  girdle  the  earth  with 

a  spell, 
They  have  fathomed  the  depths  we  float  on,  or  measured  the 

unknown  main—" 
Sadly  they  turn  from  the  venture,  and  say  that  the  quest  is  vain. 


Is  life,  then,  a  dream  and  delusion,  and  where  shall  the  dreamer 

awake  ? 
Is  the  world  seen  like  shadows  on  water,  and  what  if  the  mirror 

break  ? 
Shall  it  pass  as  a  camp  that  is  struck,  as  a  tent  that  is  gathered 

and  gone 
From  the  sands  that  were  lamp-lit  at  eve,  and  at  morning  are 

level  and  lone  ? 


Is  there  nought  in  the  heaven  above,  whence  the  hail  and  the 

levin  are  hurled, 
But  the  wind  that  is  swept  around  us  by  the  rush  of  the  rolling 

world  ? 
The  wind  that  shall  scatter  my  ashes,  and  bear  me  to  silence  and 

sleep 
With  the  dirge,  and  the  sounds  of  lamenting,  and  the  voices 

of  women  who  weep. 

SIR  ALFRED 


112  ANONYMOUS 

MEDITATION  OF  A  HINDU  PRINCE 
AND  SCEPTIC 

I  THINK  till  I  weary  with  thinking,  said  the  sad-eyed  Hindu  King, 
But  I  see  but  shadows  around  me,  illusion  in  everything. 

How  knowest  thou  aught  of  God,  of  his  favour  or  his  wrath  ? 
Can  the  little  fish  tell  what  the  lion  thinks,  or  map  out  the  eagle's 
path  ? 

Can  the  finite  the  infinite  search, — did  the  blind  discover  the 

stars? 
Is  the  thought  that  I  think  a  thought,  or  a  throb  of  the  brain 

in  its  bars  ? 

For  aught  that  my  eye  can  discern,  your  god  is  what  you  think 

good, 
Yourself  flashed  back  from  the  glass  when  the  light  pours  on  it 

in  flood  ! 

You  preach  to  me  of  his  justice,  and  this  is  his  realm,  you  say, 
Where  the  good  are  dying  of  hunger,  and  the  bad  gorge  every  day. 

You  tell  me  he  loveth  mercy,  but  the  famine  is  not  yet  gone, — 
That  he  hateth  the  shedder  of  blood,  yet  he  slayeth  us,  everyone. 

You  tell  me  the  soul  must  live,  that  spirit  can  never  die, 

If  he  was  content  when  I  was  not,  why  not  when  I've  passed  by  ? 

You  say  that  I  must  have  a  meaning  !     So  has  dung, — and  its 

meaning  is  flowers  : 
What  if  our  lives  are  but  nurtxire  for  souls  that  are  higher  than 

ours  ? 

When  the  fish  swims  out  of  the  water,  when  the  bird  soars  out 

of  the  blue, 
Man's  thought  shall  transcend  man's  knowledge,  and  your  God 

be  no  reflex  of  you  ! 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACED. 

The  preceding  poem  by  Lyall  had  the  same  title  as  these  verses, 
"  Meditation  of  a  Hindu  Prince  and  Sceptic"  when  first  published  in  the 
CornbUl,  September,  1877.  I  was  fully  convinced,  for  reasons  that  would 
take  too  long  to  set  out  here,  that  these  verses  were  by  Hodgson.  But 
Mrs.  Piper,  the  well-known  trance-medium,  says  that  Hodgson  gave  her 
a  copy  signed  with  other  initials  than  his,  and  that  she  is  sure  he  was  not 
the  author.  She  has  mislaid  the  copy  she  refers  to.  In  view  of  this  state- 
ment I  must  not  attribute  the  verses  to  Hodgson,  although  I  cannot  but 
doubt  whether  Mrs.  Piper's  recollection  is  correct. 


1  1  3 


ONE  summer  hour  abides,  what  time  I  perched, 
Dappled  with  noon-day,  under  simmering  leaves,. 
And  pulled  the  pulpy  oxhearts,  while  aloof 
An  oriole  clattered  and  the  robins  shrilled, 
Denouncing  me  an  alien  and  a  thief. 

J.  R.  LOWEU, 
(The  Cathedral). 


THE  present  writer  .  .  .  was  seated  in  a  railway-carriage, 
five  minutes  or  so  before  starting,  and  had  time  to  contemplate 
certain  waggons  or  trucks  filled  with  cattle,  drawn  up  on  a  parallel 
line,  and  quite  close  to  the  window  at  which  he  sat.  The  cattle 
wore  a  much-enduring  aspect ;  and,  as  he  looked  into  their 
large,  patient,  melancholy  eyes, — for,  as  before  mentioned,  there 
was  no  space  to  speak  of  intervening, — a  feeling  of  puzzlement 
arose  in  his  mind.  .  .  .  The  much-enduring  animals  in  the  trucks 
opposite  had  unqiiestionably  some  rude  twilight  of  a  notion  of  a 
world  ;  of  objects  they  had  some  unknown  cognizance  ;  but  he 
could  not  get  behind  the  melancholy  eye  within  a  yard  of  him 
and  look  through  it.  How,  from  that  window,  the  world  shaped 
itself,  he  could  not  discover,  could  not  even  fancy  ;  and  yet, 
staring  on  the  animals,  he  was  conscious  of  a  certain  fascination 
in  which  there  lurked  an  element  of  terror.  These  wild,  unkempt 
brutes,  with  slavering  muzzles,  penned  together,  lived,  could  choose 
between  this  thing  and  the  other,  could  be  frightened,  could  be 
enraged,  could  even  love  and  hate ;  and  gazing  into  a  placid,  heavy 
countenance,  and  the  depths  of  a  patient  eye,  not  a  yard  away,  he 
was  conscious  of  an  obscure  and  shuddering  recognition  of  a  life 
akin  so  far  with  his  own.  But  to  enter  into  that  life  imaginatively , 
and  to  conceive  it,  he  found  impossible.  Eye  looked  upon  eye,  but 
the  one  could  not  flash  recognition  on  the  other  ;  and,  thinking 
of  this,  he  remembers,  with  what  a  sense  of  ludicrous  horror, 
the  idea  came, — what,  if  looking  on  one  another  thus,  some  spark 
of  recognition  could  be  elicited  ;  if  some  rudiment  of  thought 
could  be  detected  ;  if  there  were  indeed  a  point  at  which  man 
and  ox  could  meet  and  compare  notes  ?  Suppose  some  gleam 
or  scintillation  of  humour  had  lighted  up  the  unwinking,  amber 
eye  ?  Heavens,  the  bellow  of  the  weaning  calf  would  be  pathetic, 
shoe-leather  would  be  forsworn,  the  eating  of  roast  meat,  hot 
or  cold,  would  be  cannibalism,  the  terrified  world  would  make  a 
sudden  dash  into  vegetarianism ! 

ALEXANDER  SMITH 
(On  the  Importance  of  Man  to  Himself) . 


II4  MONTAIGNE  AND  OTHERS 

Does  not  this  give  the  reason  why  we  do  not  eat  dogs  and  horses  ? 
We,  more  than  other  nations,  recognize  in  the  horse,  as  well  as  in  the  dog, 
a  life  and  intelligence  akin  to  our  own.  We  also  believe  that  both  animals 
reciprocate  the  affection  we  feel  towards  them.  (Coleridge  in  Table  Talk 
says  :  "  The  dog  alone,  of  all  brute  animals,  has  a  vropy-i]  or  affection 
upwards  to  man.") 


WHEN  I  am  playing  with  my  Cat,  who  knowes  whether  she  have 
more  sport  in  dallying  with  me,  than  I  have  in  gaming  with  her  ? 
We  entertaine  one  another  with  mutual  apish  trickes  :  If  I  have 
my  houre  to  begin  or  to  refuse,  so  hath  she  hers. 

MONTAIGNE 
(Bk.  II,  ch.  12). 


O  WHAT  are  these  Spirits  that  o'er  us  creep, 

And  touch  our  eyelids  and  drink  our  breath  ? 
The  first,  with  a  flower  in  his  hand,  is  Sleep  ; 
The  next,  with  a  star  on  his  brow,  is  Death. 

R.  BUCHANAN 
(Balder  the  Beautiful). 


-'      PEACE,  peace  !  he  is  not  dead,  he  doth  not  sleep- 
He  hath  awakened  from  the  dream  of  life — 
'Tis  we,  who  lost  in  stormy  visions,  keep 
With  phantoms  an  unprofitable  life. 

SHEIJ.EY 
(Adonais  XXXIX). 


HAVE  you  found  your  life  distasteful  ? 

My  life  did — and  does — smack  sweet. 
Was  your  youth  of  pleasure  wasteful  ? 

Mine  I  saved  and  hold  complete. 
Do  your  joys  \vith  age  diminish  ? 

When  mine  fails  me,  I'll  complain. 
Must  in  death  your  daylight  finish  ? 

My  sun  sets  to  rise  again. 

R.  BROWNING 

(At  the  Mermaid] 

My  life  did— and  does — smack  sweet  " — see  note  p  236. 


BLAKE— TUPPER  115 

THE  LAMB 

LITTLE  lamb,  who  made  thee  ? 

Dost  thou  know  who  made  thee, 
Gave  thee  life,  and  bade  thee  feed 
By  the  stream  and  o'er  the  mead  ; 
Gave  thee  clothing  of  delight, 
Softest  clothing,  woolly,  bright ; 
Gave  thee  such  a  tender  voice, 
Making  all  the  vales  rejoice  ? 

Little  lamb,  who  made  thee  ? 

Dost  thou  know  who  made  thee  ? 

Little  lamb,  I'll  tell  thee  ; 

Little  lamb,  I'll  tell  thee  ; 
He  is  called  by  thy  name, 
For  He  calls  Himself  a  Lamb. 
He  is  meek,  and  He  is  mild, 
He  became  a  little  child. 
I  a  child,  and  thou  a  lamb, 
We  are  called  by  His  name. 

Little  lamb,"  God  bless  thee  ! 

Little  lamb,  God  bless  thee  ! 

W.  BI.AKR  (1757-1827). 


WHO  can  wrestle  against  Sleep  ?    Yet  is    that  giant  very 
gentleneas. 

MARTIN  TUPPER. 

(Of  Beauty}. 


ON  A  FINE  MORNING 

i. 

WHENCE  comes  Solace  ?— Not  from  seeing 
What  is  doing,  suffering,  being, 
Not  from  noting  Life's  conditions, 
Nor  from  heeding  Time's  monitions  ; 
But  in  cleaving  to  the  Dream, 
And  in  gazing  at  the  Gleam 
Whereby  gray  things  golden  seem. 


u 6  HARDY  AND  OTHERvS 

ii. 

Thus  do  I  this  heyday,  holding 
Shadows  but  as  lights  unfolding, 
As  no  specious  show  this  moment 
With  its  iridized  embowment ; 
But  as  nothing  other  than 
Part  of  a  benignant  plan  ; 
Proof  that  earth  was  made  for  man. 

THOMAS  HARDY. 

This  is  not  in  the  Selected  Poems.     It  is  interesting  as  showing  Mr. 
Hardy  in  an  optimistic  mood. 


WITHOUT  the  smile  from  partial  beauty  won, 
Oh,  what  were  man  ?  a  world  without  a  sun  ! 

THOMAS    CAMPBEU, 
(Pleasures  of  Hope,  Pi.  II). 


OF  two  opposite  methods  of  action,  do  you  desire  to  know 
which  should  have  the  preference  ?  Calculate  their  effects  in 
pleasures  and  pains,  and  prefer  that  which  promises  the  greater 
sum  of  pleasures. 


THINK  not  that  a  man  will  so  much  as  lift  up  liis  little  finger 
on  your  behalf,  unless  he  sees  his  advantage  in  it. 

JEREMY  BKNTHAM  (1748-1832). 

These  cold-blooded  and  repulsive  aphorisms  are  typical  of  Bentham's 
Utilitarian  philosophy,  from  which  all  sense  of  duty  and  moral  aspiration 
were  excluded.  It  is  strange  that  these  views  should  be  held  by  a  great 
thinker  who  was  himself  of  benevolent  character.  Such  a  doctrine  could  not 
have  survived  to  my  time,  had  it  not  been  supplemented  by  John  Stuart 
Mill  (1806-1873),  who  gave  a  different  place  to  the  humanist  element.  While 
still  adhering  to  Bentham's  doctrine  that  there  is  no  good  but  pleasure  and  no 
evil  but  pain,  he  introduced  as  the  higher  forms  of  pleasure  those  derived 
from  the  wish  for  self-culture  and  the  desire  to  satisfy  our  mental  and  moral 
aims.  He  gave  priority  to  all  the  sympathetic  and  altruistic  motives  that 
govern  our  actions.  Whereas  Bentham  held  that  all  pleasures  were  equal  and 
could  be  counted  in  one  column,  Mill  said  that  they  differed  in  quality, 


PROCTER  117 

that  they  could  no  more  be  added  up  in  one  column  than  pounds,  shillings 
and  pence ;  that,  in  fact,  there  is  no  equivalent  for  a  higher  pleasure  in  any 
quantity  of  a  lower  one.  This  was  typical  of  Mill's  sincerity ;  but  he  did 
not  see  that  his  additions  were  fatal  to  Bentham's  doctrine  and  to  hedonism 
generally.  How,  for  instance,  is  a  higher  pleasure  to  be  known  for  a  higher  ? 
In  what  respect  is  an  intellectual  pleasure  or  the  satisfaction  of  doing  one's 
duty  of  higher  quality  than  the  gratification  of  the  senses  ?  To  ascertain 
this  it  is  necessary  to  pass  from  the  pleasure  itself  to  the  thing  that  gives 
the  pleasure  or,  in  other  words,  to  the  character  that  finds  the  pleasure. 
Many  illustrations  of  this  might  be  given.  In  one  of  Sir  Alfred  Lyall's 
poems,  which  is  founded  on  fact,  an  Englishman  who  has  been  captured  by 
Arabs  has  no  religious  belief ;  his  loved  ones  are  waiting  his  return  ;  he  can 
save  his  life  if  he  will  only  repeat  the  Mahomedan  formula  5  if  he  dies  no 
one  will  know  of  his  self-sacrifice  :  yet  he  decides  to  die  for  the  honour  of 
England.  However,  Bentham's  careful  calculus  of  equal  pleasures  and 
pains,  "  push-pin  "  being  "  worth  as  much  as  poetry,"*  came  to  an  end 
through  Mill,  and  Mill  at  once  made  way  for  Spencer  on  the  one  hand,  and 
T.  H.  Green  on  the  other  ;  both  of  these  rejected  the  calculation  of  pleasures 
or  happiness  as  the  standard  of  right  either  for  the  individual  or  the  greatest 
number.  In  all  directions  the  low  moral  stage  of  philosophic  thought 
represented  by  Benthamism  has  been  passed  through  and  forgotten.  We 
no  longer  hold  the  belief  that  the  only  sphere  of  Government  is  to  protect 
our  persons  and  property,  but  follow  loftier  ideals  ;  and  in  art  and  poetry 
we  look  for  higher  aims  than  mere  luxury  and  sensuous  pleasure. 

LIFE 

WE  are  born  ;  we  laugh  ;  we  weep  ; 

We  love  ;  we  droop  ;  we  die ! 
Ah  !  wherefore  do  we  laugh,  or  weep  ? 

Why  do  we  live,  or  die  ? 
Who  knows  that  secret  deep  ? 
Alas,   not  I ! 

Why  doth  the  violet  spring 

Unseen  by  human  eye  ? 
Why  do  the  radiant  seasons  bring 

Sweet  thoughts  that  quickly  fly  ? 
WThy  do  our  fond  hearts  cling 
To  things  that  die  ? 

We  toil, — through  pain  and  wrong  ; 

We  fight,— and  fly  ; 
We  love  ;  we  lose  ;  and  then,  ere  long, 

Stone  dead  we  lie. 
Life  !  is  all  thy  song 

Endure  and — die  ? 

B.  W.  PROCTER  (Barn1  Cornwall). 

•Was  a  phrase  of  Cowper's  in  Bentham's  mind  ?  Tha  latter  wrote  to  Christopher 
Rowley,  "We  are  strange  creatures,  my  little  friend ;  everything  that  we  do  is  in  reality 
important,  though  half  that  we  do  seems  to  be  push-pin." 


1 1 8  KEATS— DRYDEN 

STOP  and  consider  !     Life  is  but  a  day  ; 

A  fragile  dewdrop  on  its  perilous  way 

From  a  tree's  summit ;  a  poor  Indian's  sleep 

While  his  boat  hastens  to  the  monstrous  steep 

Of  Montmorenci, — Why  .so  sad  a  moan  ? 

Life  is  the  rose's  hope  while  yet  unblown  ; 

The  reading  of  an  ever-changing  tale  ; 

The  light  uplifting  of  a  maiden's  veil ; 

A  pigeon  tumbling  in  clear  summer  air  ; 

A  laughing  school  boy,  without  grief  or  care, 

Riding  the  spring}'  branches  of  an  elm. 

KEATS 

(Sleep  and  Poetry). 

Life  is  compared  to  the  brief  fall  of  a  dewdrop,  the  Indian's  unconscious 
sleep  while  his  boat  hastens  to  destruction  ;  but  life  also  is  Hope,  Intellect, 
Beauty,  and  Physical  Enjoyment. 


WHEN  I  consider  life,  'tis  all  a  cheat ; 
Yet,  fooled  with  hope,  men  favour  the  deceit 
Trust  on,  and  think  to-morrow  will  repay — 
To-morrow's  falser  than  the  former  day  ; 
Lies  worse  and,  while  it  says  we  shall  be  blessed 
With  some  new  joys,  cuts  off  what  we  possesst. 
Strange  cozenage  !  none  would  live  past  years  again, 
Yet  all  hope  pleasure  in  what  yet  remain  ; 
And,  from  the  dregs  of  life,  think  to  receive 
What  the  first  sprightly  running  would  not  give. 
I'm  tired  with  waiting  for  this  chymic  gold, 
Which  fools  us  young,  and  beggars  us  when  old. 

JOHN  DRYDEN 

(Aweng-sebe). 


THAT'S  the  wise  thrush  ;  he  sings  each  song  twice  over, 
Lest  you  should  think  he  never  could  recapture 
The  first  fine  careless  rapture  ! 

R.  BROWNING 

(Home-Thoughts  from  Abroad}. 


MONTENAEKEN  1 19 

PEU  DE  CHOSE  ET  PRESQUE  TROP. 

LA   vie   est  vaine  : 

Un  peu  d' amour, 
Un  peu  de  haine  .  .  . 

Et  puis — bonjour  ! 

La  vie  est  breve  : 

Un  peu  d'espoir, 
Un  peu  de  reve  .  .  . 

Et  puis — bonsoir  ! 

(Life  is  vain  :  A  little  love,  A  little  hate,  ....  And  then — good-day  I ) 
(Life  is  short :  A  little  hope,  A  little  dream,  ....  And  then — good 
night !) 

LEON  MONTENAEKEN. 


This  haunting  little  lyric  is  a  literary  curiosity  from  one  point  of 
view.  In  spite  of  expostulations  from  the  author  (a  Belgian  poet),  and 
repeated  public  statements  by  others  from  time  to  time,  the  poem  is  con- 
stantly being  wrongly  attributed  to  one  or  another  of  the  French  poets. 
It  appeared  in  Le  Parnasse  de  la  Jeune  Belgique,  1887,  but  had  probably 
been  written  and  published  some  years  before  that  date.  In  the  Nine- 
teenth Century,  September,  1893,  William  Sharp  pointed  out  that  the  poem 
was  always  being  attributed  to  the  wrong  author — even  Andrew  Lang 
being  one  of  the  culprits.  The  author  himself  wrote  to  The  Literary  World  of 
June  3,  1904,  to  the  same  effect.  The  subject  was  again  spoken  of  in 
Notes  and  Queries,  January  5,  1907,  when  the  author's  letter  was  republished. 
London  Truth  also  brought  the  matter  up  at  one  time,  and  probably  the 
same  fact  has  been  publicly  pointed  out  elsewhere  a  hundred  times — but 
the  poem  continues  to  be  attributed  to  the  wrong  author !  In  the  Dic- 
tionary of  Foreign  Phrases  and  Classical  Quotations,  by  H.  P.  Jones,  pub- 
lished so  recently  as  1913,  the  verses  are  ascribed  to  Alfred  de  Musset. 

There  is  a  third  verse,  which  reads  like  an  answer  or  retort  to  the  other 
two  : 

La  vie  est  telle, 

Que    Dieu    la    fit  5 
Et  telle,  quelle, 
Elle  suffit ! 

(Life  is  such  As  God  made  it,  And,  just  as  it  is,  ....     It  suffices  !) 

One  of  the  writers  to  Notes  and  Queries  quotes  the  following  lines  : 
On  entre,  on  crie, 
Et  c'est  la  vie ! 
On  bailie,  on  sort, 
Et  c'est  la  mort ! 

(Ausone  de  Chancel,   1836) 

(You  enter,  you  cry,  and  that  is  life  ;  you  yawn,  you  go  out,  and  that  is 
death.) 


120  ELIOT 

A  VERY  strange,  fantastic  world — where  each  one  pursues 
his  own  golden  bubble,  and  laughs  at  his  neighbour  for  doing 
the  same.  I  have  been  thinking  how  a  moral  Linnaeus  would 
classify  our  race. 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACED. 


TWO  LOVERS 

TWO  lovers  by  a  moss-grown  spring  : 
They  leaned  soft  cheeks  together  there, 
Mingled  the  dark  and  sxinny  hair 
And  heard  the  wooing  thrushes  sing. 
O  budding  time  ! 
O  love's  blest  prime  ! 

Two  wedded  from  the  portal  stept : 
The   bells   made   happy    carollings, 
The  air  was  soft  as  tanning  wings, 
White  petals  on  the  pathway  slept. 
O  pure-e3red   bride  ! 
O  tender  pride  ! 

Two  faces  o'er  a  cradle  bent  : 

Two  hands  above  the  head  were  locked  ; 
These  pressed  each  other  while  they  rocked. 
Those  watched  a  life  that  love  had  sent. 
O  solemn  hour  ! 
O  hidden  power  ! 

Two  parents  by  the  evening  fire  : 
The  red  light  fell  about  their  knees 
On  heads  that  rose  by  slow  degrees 
Like  buds  upon  the  lily  spire. 
O  patient  life"! 
O  tender  strife 


The  two  still  sat  together  there, 

The  red  light  shone  about  their  knees  : 
But  all  the  heads  by  slow  degrees 
Had  gone  and  left  that  lonely  pair. 
O  voyage  fast ! 
O  vanished  past ! 


EUOT  AND  OTHERS 

The  red  light  shone  upon  the  floor 

And  made  the  space  between  them  wide  ; 
They  drew  their  chairs  up  side  by  side, 
Their  pale  cheeks  joined,  and  said,  "  Once  more  ! 
O  memories  ! 
O  past  that  is  ! 

GEORGE  ELIOT. 


SOME  of  your  griefs  you  have  cured, 

And  the  sharpest  you  still  have  siirvived  ; 
/       But  what  torments  of  pain  you  endured 
From  evils  that  never  arrived  ! 

R.  W.  EMKRSON 
(From   the    French). 

This  sentiment  has  been  expressed  by  many  different  authors.  Some 
friends  of  mine  have  as  their  favourite  motto,  "  I  have  had  many  troubles 
in  my  life,  and  most  of  them  never  happened." 


WITH  him  ther  was  his  son,  a  yong  Squyer,  *          Squire 
A  lovyere  and  a  lusty  bachelor,  lover 

With  lokkes  crulle,  as  they  were  leyd  in  presse.     curly  locks 

Of  twenty  yeer  of  age  he  was,  I  gesse 

Singinge  lie  was,  or  floytinge,  al  the  day  ;  playing  the 

He  was  as  fresh  as  is  the  month  of  May.  flute 

Short  was  his  goune,  with  sieves  long  and  wide, 
Well  coude  he  sitte  on  hors  and  faire  ride, 

CHAUCER 
(Canterbury   Tales — Prologue] . 


WITH  a  waist  and  with  a  side 
White  as  Hebe's,  when  her  zone 
Slipt  its  golden  clasp,  and  down 
Fell  her  kirtle  to  her  feet, 
While  she  held  her  goblet  sweet, 
And  Jove  grew  languid. 

KEATS 
(Fancy). 

*  "Squyer"  is  a  dissyllable.  The  final  e  at  the  end  of  a  line  is  always  sounded 
like  a  in  "  China."  "  Lokkes,"  "  sieves  "  and  "  faire  "  are  also  dissyllables,  because 
e,  ed,  en,  es  are  sounded  as  syllables,  except  before  vowels  and  certain  words  beginning 
with  h. 


122  WORDSWORTH  AND  OTHERS 

LIKE  Angels  stopped  upon  the  wing  by  sound 
Of  harmony  from  heaven's  remotest  spheres. 

WORDSWORTH 
(The  Prelude,   Bk.   XIV.) 


STEPPING  down  the  hill  with  her  fair  companions, 

Ann  in  arm,  all  against  the  raying  West, 
Boldly  she  sings,  to  the  merry  tune  she  marches, 
Brave  is  her  shape,  and  sweeter  unpossess'd. 

G.  MEREDITH 
(Love   in   the    Valley}. 

THE   blessed   Damozel   leaned   out 

From  the  gold  bar  of  Heaven  ; 
Her  eyes  were  deeper  than  the  depth 

Of  waters  stilled  at  even  ; 
She  had  three  lilies  in  her  hand, 

And  the  stars  in  her  hair  were  seven. 

Her  robe,  ungirt  from  clasp  to  hem, 

No  wrought   flowers  did   adorn, 
But  a  white  rose  of  Mary's  gift, 

For  service  meetly  worn ; 
Her  hair  that  lay  along  her  back 
Was  yellow  like  ripe  corn. 

D.   G.   ROSSETTI 
(The  Blessed  Damozel). 

WHEN  AS  in  silk  my  Julia  goes, 
Then,  then,  methinks,  how  sweetly  flows 
The  liquefaction  of  her  clothes  ! 

ROBERT  HERRICK 
(Upon  Julia's  Clothes] 

The  six  quotations  above  are  from  a  series  of  word-pictures  (see  p.  85). 

WHATEVER  else  may  or  may  not  work  on  through  eternity, 
we  are  bound  to  believe  that  the  love,  which  moved  the  Father 
to  redeem  the  world  at  such  infinite  cost,  must  work  on,  while 
there  is  one  pang  in  the  universe,  born  of  sin,  which  can  touch 
the  Divine  pity,  or  one  wretched  prodigal  in  rags  and  hunger 
far  from  the  home  and  the  heart  of  God. 

REV.  BALDWIN  BROWS. 


IJTTLEDALE  AND  OTHERS  123 

CANON  FARRAR  is  not  happy  in  his  rejoinder  to  the  argument 
that  to  cast  a  doubt  on  the  endlessness  of  punishment  is  to 
invalidate  the  argument  for  the  endlessness  of  bliss,  since  both 
rest  on  exactly  Ihe  same  Biblical  sanction.  There  are  three 
replies,  cumulatively  exhaustive,  which  he  has  failed  to  adduce 
.  .  .(Firstly,  evil  and  temptation  are  banished  from  heaven  ; 
Second,  the  two  arguments  do  not  rest  on  the  same  Biblical 
sanction)  .  .  Thirdly,  the  difference  of  the  two  eternities,  heaven 
and  hell,  consists  in  the  presence  or  absence  of  God.  Let  us  put  a 
for  each  of  those  eternities  or  aeons,  and  6  to  denote  Him.  The 
assertion  of  the  equality  of  the  two,  then,  is  that  a+d  =  a  —  6, 
which  can  stand  only  if  0  =  0,  the  postulate  of  atheism. 

REV.  R.  F.  LTTTXEDALE,  D.C.L. 

Both  these  passages  come  from  an  Article  in  the  Contemporary  for 
April,  1878. 

As  this  book  is  partly  intended  to  revive  the  memories  of  forty  years 
ago,  I  include  these  out  of  the  passages  in  my  commonplace  book  which 
refer  to  the  intense  struggle  that  then  raged  over  the  question  of  Eternal 
Punishment.  Surely  no  other  word,  since  the  world  began,  raised  so 
tremendous  an  issue,  created  such  conflict  and  caused  so  much  heart- 
burning as  the  one  word  aldiviot. 

(Liddeli  and  Scott,  1901,  gives  the  following  meanings  for  oWvtoi: 
lasting  for  an  age,  perpetual,  everlasting,  eternal.) 


I  THANK  God,  and  with  joy  I  mention  it,  I  was  never  afraid 
of  Hell,  nor  never  grew  pale  at  the  description  of  that  place.  I 
have  so  fixed  my  contemplations  on  Heaven,  that  I  have  almost 
forgot  the  Idea  of  Hell,  and  am  afraid  ratlier  to  lose  the  joys 
of  the  one,  than  endure  the  misery  of  the  other  :  to  be  deprived 
of  them  is  a  perfect  Hell,  and  needs,  methinks,  no  addition  to 
compleat  our  afflictions.  That  terrible  term  hath  never  detained 
me  from  sin,  nor  do  I  owe  any  good  action  to  the  name  thereof. 
I  fear  GOD,  yet  am  not  afraid  of  Him  :  His  Mercies  make  me 
ashamed  of  my  sins,  before  His  Judgments  afraid  thereof. 

SIR  THOMAS  BROWNE  (1605-1682) 
(Religio  Medici). 


NE  nous  imaginons  pas  que  1'enfer  consiste  dans  ces  etangs 
de  feu  et  de  soufre,  dans  ces  flamines  eternellement  devorantes, 
dans  cette  rage,  dans  ce  desespoir,  dans  cet  horrible  grincement 
de  dents.  I/enfer,  si  nous  1'entendons,  c'est  peche  m€me : 
1'enfer,  c'est  d'etre  eloigne  de  Dieu. 

BOSSUET   (1627-1704). 


124  BOSWELL  AND  OTHERS 

(Let  us  not  imagine  that  hell  consists  in  those  lakes  of  fire  and  brimstone, 
in  those  eternally-devouring  flames,  in  that  rage,  in  that  despair,  in  that 
horrible  gnashing  of  teeth.  Hell,  if  we  understand  it  aright,  is  sin  itself  : 
hell  consists  in  being  banished  from  God.) 


.  .  .  SIR  HENRY  WOTTON'S  celebrated  answer  to  a  priest  in 
Italy,  who  asked  him,  "  Where  was  your  religion  to  be  found  before 
Luther  ?  "  "  My  religion  was  to  be  found  there — where  yours 
is  not  to  be  found  now — in  the  written  word  of  God . "  In  Selden  's 
Table  Talk  we  have  the  following  more  witty  reply  made  to  the 
same  question  :  "  Where  was  America  an  hundred  or  six  score 
years  ago  ?  " 

BOSWEIJ/S  Life  of  Johnson,  VIII,    176. 


I  do  not  wish  to  introduce  sectarian  questions,  but  thes 
interesting  and  clever.     The  next  quotation  is  pro-Catholic. 


DURING  the  horrible  time  of  the  Borgia  Pope,  Alexander  VI, 
a  French  priest  and  a  Jew  became  very  intimate  friends.  The 
priest,  very  anxious  for  the  future  welfare  of  his  friend,  xirged 
him  to  be  received  into  the  church  :  and  the  Jew  promised 
to  earnestly  consider  this  advice.  The  priest,  however,  gave  up 
all  hope  on  learning  that  the  Jew  was  called  by  his  business  to 
Rome,  where  he  would  see  the  unutterably  monstrous  life  of  the 
Pope  and  clergy.  To  his  surprise  the  Jew  on  his  return  announced 
that  he  wished  to  be  baptized,  saying  that  a  religion,  which  could 
still  exist  in  spite  of  such  abominations,  must  be  the  true  religion. 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACED. 

I  noted  this  from  an  old  French  book,  but  the  real  story  must  be  the 
earlier  one  of  Boccaccio  (1315-1375)-     Alexander  Borgia  was  Pope,  1492- 


I  VERH/Y  believe  that,  if  the  knife  were  put  into  my  hand, 
I  should  not  have  strength  and  energy  enough  to  stick  it  into  a 
Dissenter. 

SYDNEY  SMITH. 

Shortly  before  his  death  in  1844  he  gave  this  as  a  singular  proof  of  his 
declining  strength  !  (See  Memoir  by  his  daughter,  Lady  Holland). 


WORDSWORTH— MASSEY  1 2  5 

A  HUNDRED  times  when,  roving  high  and  low, 
I  have  been  harassed  with  the  toil  of  verse, 
Much  pains  and  little  progress,  and  at  once 
Some  lovely  Image  in  the  song  rose  up 
Full-formed  like  Venus  rising  from  the  sea. 

W.  WORDSWORTH 
(Prelude,  Bk.  IV). 

The  "  Prelude  "  is  extremely  interesting  as  a  poet's  autobiography. 


LONG  EXPECTED 

0  MANY  and  many  a  day  before  we  met, 

1  knew  some  spirit  walked  the  world  alone, 
Awaiting  the  Beloved  from  afar ; 

And  I  was  the  anointed  chosen  one 

Of  all  the  world  to  crown  her  queenly  brows 

With  the  imperial  crown  of  human  love. 

I   knew  my  sunshine  somewhere  warmed  the  world, 

And  I  should  reach  it,  in  His  own  good  time 

Who  sendeth  sun,  and  dew,  and  love  for  all.  .  . 

Earth,  with  her  thousand  voices,  talked  of  thee — 

Sweet  winds,  and  whispering  leaves,  and  piping  birds, 

The  hum  of  happiness  in  summer  woods, 

And  the  light  dropping  of  the  silver  rain  ; 

And  standing  as  in  God's  own  presence-chamber. 

When  silence  lay  like  sleep  upon  the  world, 

And  it  seemed  rich  to  die,  alone  with  Night, 

Like  Moses  'neath  the  kisses  of  God's  lips, 

The  stars  have  trembled  thro'  the  holy  hush, 

And  smiled  down  tenderly,  and  read  to  me 

The  love  hid  for  me  in  a  budding  breast, 

Like  incense  folded  in  a  young  flower's  heart. 

GRRAI.D  MASSKY 

"  Rich  to  die  "  is  reminiscent  of  Keats'  Ode  to  a  Nightingale  : 
Now  more  than  ever  seems  it  rich  to  die, 
To  cease  upon  the  midnight  with  no  pain. 


"  COME  back,  come  back  "  ;  behold  with  straining  mast 
And  swelling  sail,  behold  her  steaming  fast ; 
With  one  new  sun  to  see  her  voyage  o'er, 
With  morning  light  to  touch  her  native  shore, 
"  Come  back,  come  back." 


126  CLOUGH— CAMPION 

"  Come  hack,  come  back  "  ;  across  the  flying  foam, 
We  hear  faint  far-off  voices  call  us  home, 
"  Come  back,"  ye  seem  to  say  ;  ''  Ye  seek  in  vain  , 
We  went,  we  sought,  and  homeward  turned  again. 
Come  back,   come  back." 

"  Come  back,  come  back  "  ;   and  whither  back  or  why  ? 
To  fan  quenched  hopes,  forsaken  schemes  to  try  ; 
Walk  the  old  fields  ;  pace  the  familiar  street ; 
Dream  with  the  idlers,  with  the  bards  compete. 
"  Come  back,  come  back." 

"Come  back,  come  back";   and  whither  and  for  what? 
To  finger  idly  some  old  Gordian  knot, 
Unskilled  to  sunder,  and  too  weak  to  cleave, 
And  with  much  toil  attain  to  half-believe. 
"Come  back,  come  back." 

"  Come  back,  come  back  "  ;  yea  back,  indeed,  do  go 
Sighs  panting  thick,  and  tears  that  want  to  flow  ; 
Fond  fluttering  hopes  upraise  their  useless  wings, 
And  wishes  idly  struggle  in  the  strings  ; 
"Come  back,  come  back."  .  .  . 

'  Come  back,  come  back  !  " 

Back  flies  the  foam  ;  the  hoisted  flag  streams  back  , 
The  long  smoke  wavers  on  the  homeward  track, 
Back  fly  with  winds  things  which  the  winds  obey— 
The  strong  ship  follows  its  appointed  way. 

A.  H.  CZOUGH 

(Songs  in  Absence}. 

I  have  ventured  to  put  quotation  marks  in  the  above  to  make  the 
meaning  clear  at  first  view.  Also — but  that  italics  seldom  look  well  in 
a  poem — I  would  have  written  the  last  two  lines  as  follows  : 

Back  fly  with  winds  things  which  the  winds  obey  — 

The  strong  ship  follows  its  appointed  way. 


WHEN  thou  must  home  to  shades  of  underground, 
And  there  arrived,  a  new  admired  guest, 

The  beauteous  spirits  do  engirt  thee  round, 
White  lope,  blithe  Helen,  and  the  rest, 

To  hear  the  stories  of  thy  finished  love 

From  that  smooth  tongue  whose  music  hell  can  move 


CAMPION— ARNOLD  127 

Then  wilt  thou  speak  of  banqueting  delights, 

Of  masques  and  revels  which  sweet  "youth  did  make, 

Of  tourneys  and  great  challenges  of  knights, 
And  all  these  triumphs  for  thy  beauty's  sake  : 

When  thou  hast  told  these  honours  done  to  thee, 

Then  tell,  O  tell,  how  thou  didst  murder  me. 

THOMAS  CAMPION. 


A  QUESTION 
To  Fausta. 

JOY  comes  and  goes,  hope  ebbs  and  flows 

Like   the   wave  ; 

Change  doth  unknit  the  tranquil  strength  of  men 
I,ove  lends  life  a  little  grace, 
A  few  sad  smiles  ;  and  then, 
Both  are  laid  in  one  cold  place, 
In  the  grave. 

Dreams  dawn  and  fly,  friends  smile  and  die 

Like  spring  flowers ; 
Our  vaunted  life  is  one  long  funeral. 
Men  dig  graves  with  bitter  tears 
For  their  dead  hopes  ;  and  all, 
Mazed  with  doubts  and  sick  with  fears, 

Count  the  hours. 

We  count  the  hours  !  These  dreams  of  ours, 

False  and  hollow, 

Do  we  go  hence  and  find  they  are  not  dead  ? 
Joys  we  dimly  apprehend, 
Faces  that  smiled  and  fled, 
Hopes  born  here,  and  born  to  end, 
Shall  we  follow  ? 

MATTHEW  ARNOLD. 


DEAD  !  that  is  the  word 
That  rings  through  my  brain  till  it  crazes  ! 
Dead,  while  the  mayflowers  bud  and  blow, 
While  the  green  creeps  over  the  white  of  the  snow, 
While  the  wild  woods  ring  with  the  song  of  the  bird, 
And  the  fields  are  a-bloom  with  daisies. 


128  GOSSE— XENOPHANES 

See  !  even  the  clod 

Thrills,  with  life's  glad  passion  shaken  ! 

The  vagabond  weeds,  with  their  vagrant  train, 
Laugh  in  the  sun,  and  weep  in  the  rain, 

The  blue  sky  smiles  like  the  eye  of  God, 
Only  ray  dead  do  not  waken. 

Dead  !  There  is  the  word 
That  I  sit  in  the  darkness  and  ponder  ! 
Why  should  the  river,  the  sky  and  the  sea 
Babble  of  summer  and  joy  to  me, 
While  a  strong,  tnie  heart,  with  its  pulse  unstirred, 
Lies  hushed  in  the  silence  yonder  ? 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACED. 


OUR  voices  one  by  one 
Fail  in  the  hymn  begun  ; 
Our  last  sad  song  of  Life  is  done, 
Our  first  sweet  song  of  Death. 

EDMUND  GOSSE 
(Encomium  Mortis). 

This  poem  appeared  in  early  editions  of  On  viol  and  Flute,  but  is  now 
omitted  from  Mr.  Gosse's  poems. 


THERE  is  one  God  supreme  over  all  gods,  diviner  than  mortals, 
Whose  form  is  not  like  unto  man's,  and  as  unlike  his  nature  ; 
But  vain  mortals  imagine  that  gods  like  themselves  are  begotten, 
With  human  sensations  and  voice  and  corporeal  members  ; 
So,  if  oxen  or  lions  had  hands  and  could  work  in  man's  fashion, 
And  trace  out  with  chisel  or  brush  their  conception  of  Godhead, 
Then  would  horses  depict  gods  like  horses,  and  oxen  like  oxen, 
Each  kind  the  divine  with  its  own  form  and  natiire  endowing. 

XENOPHANES  OF  COI.OPHON  (About  570  B.C.). 

I  do  not  know  whose  paraphrase  this  is ;  it  was  prefixed  by  Tyndall 
to  his  Belfast  Address,  1874.  He  probably  imagined  that  these  lines  con- 
tained an  argument  in  favour  of  materialism ;  but  on  the  contrary  the 
Greek  philosopher  affirms  the  existence  of  a  supreme  God.  All  that  he 
says  is  that  the  conception  of  him  as  resembling  a  mortal  in  his  physical 
attributes  is  wrong. 

At  the  back  of  Tyndall's  mind  was  no  doubt  the  prevalent  idea  that 
any  "  anthropomorphic  "  conception  of  the  nature  of  the  Deity  is  necessarily 
absurd.  But  there  is  nothing  unreasonable  in  believing  that  His  nature, 
though  immeasurably  superior,  is  nevertheless  akin  to  our  own.  The 


TENNYSON— PlyATO  129 

a  rgument  is  that  the  source  or  power  of  the  world  must  be  greater  than 
the  highest  thing  it  has  produced,  the  mind  of  man  ;  and  that  it  must  more 
nearly  resemble  the  higher  than  the  lower  of  its  products.  In  particular 
it  is  impossible  for  us  to  believe  that  our  moral  ideas  of  truth,  justice,  right 
and  wrong,  etc.,  can  differ  at  all  in  kind,  however  much  in  degree,  from 
those  of  God.  So  also  our  reason  must  be  akin  to  His  insight.  Such  a 
belief  should  be  regarded,  not  as  "  anthropomorphic,"  but  as  (in  a  sense 
different  from  that  of  Clifford  and  Harrison)  a  "  deification  of  man  " — 
the  recognition  of  the  Divine  that  is  in  him. 


knee-deep  lies  the  winter  snow, 
And  the  winter  winds  are  wearily  sighing  : 

Toll  ye  the  church-bell  sad  and  slow, 

And  tread  softly  and  speak  low, 
For  the  old  year  lies  a-dying 

Close  up  his  eyes  :  tie  up  his  chin  : 

Step  from  the  corpse,  and  let  him  in 

That  standeth  there  alone, 
And  waiteth  at  the  door. 
There's  a  new  foot  on  the  floor,  my  friend 
And  a  new  face  at  the  door,  my  friend, 
A  new  face  at  the  door. 

TENNYSON 
(The  Death  of  the  Old  Year]. 


TO  see  the  soul  as  she  really  is,  not  as  we  now  behold  her, 
marred  by  comnumion  with  the  body  and  other  miseries,  you 
must  contemplate  her  with  the  eye  of  reason,  in  her  original 
purity — and  then  her  beauty  will  be  revealed.  .  .  .  We  must 
remember  that  we  have  seen  her  only  in  a  condition  which  may 
be  compared  to  that  of  the  sea-god  Glaucus,  whose  original 
image  can  hardly  be  discerned  because  his  natural  members 
are  broken  off  and  crushed  and  damaged  by  the  waves  in  all 
sorts  of  ways,  and  incrustations  have  grown  over  them  of  seaweed 
and  shells  and  stones,  so  that  he  is  more  like  some  monster  than 
his  own  natural  form.  And  the  soul  which  we  behold  is  in  a 
similar  condition,  disfigured  by  ten  thousand  ills.  But  not  there, 
Glaucon,  not  there  must  we  look. 

Where  then  ! 

At  her  love  of  wisdom.  Ivet  us  see  whom  she  affects,  and  what 
society  and  converse  she  seeks  in  virtue  of  her  near  kindred  with 
the  immortal  and  eternal  and  divine  ;  also  how  different  she  would 
become  if  wholly  following  this  superior  principle,  and  borne 


130  PLATO  AND  OTHERS 

by  a  divine  impulse  out  of  the  ocean  in  which  she  now  is,  and 
disengaged  from  the  stones  and  shells  and  things  of  earth  and 
rock  which  in  wild  variety  spring  up  around  her  because  she  feeds 
upon  earth,  and  is  overgrown  by  the  good  things  of  this  life  as 
they  are  termed  :  then  you  would  see  her  as  she  is,  and  know  .  .  . 
what  her  nature  is. 

PLATO 

(Republic,  Bk.  10,  Jowett's  translation). 

Apart  from  the  intrinsic  interest  of  such  a  passage,  the  picture  of  the 
old  sea-god,  with  long  hair  and  long  beard,  his  body  ending  in  a  scaly 
tail,  battered  about  by  the  waves,  and  overgrown  with  seaweed  and  shells, 
is  very  curious.  Without  discussing  how  far  the  great  philosopher  himself 
or  some  other  advanced  thinkers  believed  in  such  divinities,  it  must  be 
remembered  that  to  the  Greeks  generally  the  gods  were  very  real  personages. 


YOUTH'S  quick  and  warm,  old  age  is  slow  and  tame, 
And  only  Heaven  can  fairly  halve  their  blame. 
To-day  the  passionate  roses  breathe   and  blow 
And  ask  no  counsel  from  to-morrow's  snow, 
Whose  fretwork  sparkles  to  the  winter  moon 
White,  as  if  roses  never  flushed  in  June. 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACED. 


AH,  gracious  powers  !  I  wish  you  would  send  me  an  old  aunt 
— a  maiden  aunt — an  aunt  with  a  lozenge  on  her  carriage,  and 
a  front  of  light,  coffee-coloured  hair — how  my  children  should 
work  work-bags  for  her,  and  my  Julia  and  I  would  make  her 
comfortable  !  Sweet — sweet  vision  !  Foolish — foolish  dream  ! 

THACKERAY 
(Vanity  Fair). 

IDENTITY. 

SOMEWHERE — in  desolate  wind-swept   space  — 

In  Twilight-land — in  No-Man's  land — 
Two  hurrying  Shapes  met  face  to  face, 
And  bade  each  other  stand. 

"  And  who  are  you  ?  "  cried  one  a-gape, 

Shuddering  in  the  gloaming  light. 
"  I  know  not,"  said  the  second  Shape, 
"  I  only  died  last  night !  " 

THOMAS  BAILEY  AI.DKICH. 


MANGAN  AND  OTHERS  131 


not  thy  mirror,  sweet  Ainine, 
Till  night  shall  also  veil  each  star  ! 
Thou  seeest  a  twofold  marvel  there  : 
The  only  face  so  fair  as  thine, 
The  only  eyes  that,  near  or  far, 
Can  gaze  on  thine  without  despair, 


J.  C.  MANGAN. 


HAS  anyone  ever  pinched    into  its   pillulous  smallness   the 
cobweb  of  pre-matrimouial  acquaintanceship  ? 

GEORGE  Euox 

(Mtddlemarch). 


TO  R.K. 

AS  long  I  dwell  on  some  stupendous 

And  tremendous  (Heaven  defend  us  !) 

Monstr'  -inform'  -ingens-horrendous 

Demoniaco-seraphic 

Penman's  latest  piece  of  graphic. 

BROWNING. 


there  never  come  a  season 

Which  shall  rid  us  from  the  curse 
Of  a  prose  which  knows  no  reason 

And  an  unmelodious  verse  : 
When  the  world  shall  cease  to  wonder 

At  the  genius  of  an  Ass, 
And  a  boy's  eccentric  blunder 

Shall  not  bring  success  to  pass  : 

When  mankind  shall  be  delivered. 

From  the  clash  of  magazines, 
And  the  inkstand  shall  be  shivered 

Into  countless  smithereens  : 
When  there  stands  a  muzzled  stripling, 

Mute,  beside  a  muzzled  bore  : 
When  the  Rudy ar ds  cease  from  Kipling 

And  the  Haggards  Ride  no  more. 

JAMES  KENNETH  STEPHEN. 


I32  RUSKIN 

"  R.K."  is  Rudyard  Kipling,  but  what  was  the  "  boy's  eccentric 
blunder  "  that  brought  him  success  I  do  not  know.  Stephen  in  this  instance 
showed  a  want  of  judgment.  The  books  Kipling  had  then  produced, 
Plain  Tales  from  the  Hills,  Departmental  Ditties,  and  the  six  little  books, 
Soldiers  Three,  etc.,  all  written  before  the  age  of  twenty-four,  should  have 
been  sufficient  to  show  that  the  author  was  certainly  not  a  stripling  to  be 
"  muzzled."  Stephen's  misjudgment  was,  however,  trivial  when  we 
remember  how  many  important  writers  have  failed  to  understand  and  appre- 
ciate the  most  beautiful  poems.  Jeffrey  (1773-1850)  thought  to  the  end 
of  his  days  that  of  the  poets  of  his  time  Keats  and  Shelley  would  die  and 
Campbell  and  Rogers  alone  survive.  Shelley  was  very  unfortunate  in  his 
critics.  Matthew  Arnold  and  Carlyle  also  disparaged  him,  Theodore  Hook 
said  "  Prometheus  Unbound  "  was  properly  named  as  no  one  would  think 
of  binding  it ;  and  worst  of  all  was  Emerson.  He  said  Shelley  was  not  a 
poet,  had  no  imagination  and  his  muse  was  uniformly  imitative  ("  Thoughts 
on  Modern  Literature  ") ;  his  poetry  was  '  rhymed  English  '  which  '  had 
no  charm'  ("  Poetry  and  Imagination  ").  Just  as  amazing  was  the  article 
in  The  Edinburgh  Review,  1816,  on  Coleridge's  volume  containing  "  Christa- 
bel,"  "  Kubla  Khan,"  etc.  This  article,  usually  attributed  to  Hazlitt,  and 
certainly  having  Jeffrey's  sanction,  said  :  "  We  look  upon  this  publication 
as  one  of  the  most  notable  pieces  of  impertinence  of  which  the  press  has 
lately  been  guilty ;  and  one  of  the  boldest  experiments  that  have  as  yet 
been  made  upon  the  patience  or  understanding  of  the  public."  De  Quincey 
said  the  style  of  Keats  "  belonged  essentially  to  the  vilest  collections  of 
waxwork  filigree  or  gilt  gingerbread."  Other  instances  are  Swinburne's 
abuse  of  George  Eliot  and  Walt  Whitman,  Carlyle's  brutality  towards 
Lamb,  Jeffrey's  savage  attack  on  Wordsworth  (the  famous  "  This  will 
never  do  "  article — although  it  was  not  so  very  inexcusable),  Edward 
Fitzgerald's  letter  that  Mrs.  Browning's  death  was  a  relief  to  him  ("  No 
more  Aurora  Leighs,  thank  God  !  "),  Samuel  Rogers'  statement  that  he 
"  could  not  relish  Shakepeare's  sonnets,"  and  Steevens'  far  worse  condem- 
nation of  them,  and  indeed  the  list  could  be  extended  indefinitely.  On  the 
other  hand,  unmerited  praise  was  given  by  whole  generations  of  writers 
to  poems  which  are  now  properly  forgotten.  In  face  of  such  facts  it  is 
somewhat  of  a  mystery  why  the  best  things  do  survive.  See  next  quotation. 


IF  it  be  true,  and  it  can  scarcely  be  disputed,  that  nothing 
has  been  for  centuries  consecrated  by  public  admiration,  without 
possessing  in  a  high  degree  some  kind  of  sterling  excellence,  it 
is  not  because  the  average  intellect  and  feeling  of  the  majority 
of  the  public  are  competent  in  any  way  to  distinguish  what  is 
really  excellent,  but  because  all  erroneoiis  opinion  is  inconsistent, 
and  all  ungrounded  opinion  transitory  ;  so  that  while  the  fancies 
and  feelings  which  deny  deserved  honour,  and  award  what  is 
undue,  have  neither  root  nor  strength  sufficient  to  maintain 
consistent  testimony  for  a  length  of  time,  the  opinions  formed 
on  right  grounds  by  those  few  who  are  in  reality  competent 
judges,  being  necessarily  stable,  communicate  themselves 
gradually  from  mind  to  mind,  descending  lower  as  they  extend 
wider,  until  they  leaven  the  whole  lump,  and  rule  by  absolute 


RUSK1N  AND  OTHERS  133 

authority,  even  where  the  grounds  and  reasons  for  them  cannot 
be  understood.  On  this  gradual  victory  of  what  is  consistent 
over  what  is  vacillating,  depends  the  reputation  of  all  that  is  highest 
in  art  and  literature. 

JOHN  RUSKIN 

(Modern  Painters,  I,  i). 

This  is  an  excellent  suggestion  in  explanation  of  the  question  raised 
in  the  preceding  note.  It  is  also  interesting  because  of  the  youth  of  this 
great  writer  at  the  time.  Ruskin  was  born  in  1819,  and  the  volume  was 
published  in  1843,  when  he  was  twenty-four.  Because  of  his  youth,  it  was 
thought  inadvisable  to  give  his  name  as  author,  and,  therefore,  the  book 
was  published  as  "  by  an  Oxford  Graduate." 

THE  ages  have  exulted  in  the  manners  of  a  youth,  who  owed 
nothing  to  fortune,  and  who  was  hanged  at  the  Tyburn  of  his 
nation,  who,  by  the  pure  quality  of  his  nature,  shed  an  epic 
splendour  around  the  facts  of  his  death,  which  has  transfigured 
every  particular  into  an  universal  symbol  for  the  eyes  of  man- 
kind. This  great  defeat  is  hitherto  our  highest  fact. 

EMERSON 
(Essay  on   Character}. 

THE  best  of  men 

That  e'er  wore  earth  about  him  was  a  sufferer  ; 
A  soft,  meek,  patient,  humble,  tranquil  spirit ; 
The  first  tme  gentleman  that  ever  breathed. 

THOMAS  DEKKER  (1570-1641). 


THOU  with  strong  prayer  and  very  much  entreating 
Wiliest  be  asked,  and  Thou  shalt  answer  then, 

Show  the  hid  heart  beneath  creation  beating, 
Smile  with  kind  eyes,  and  be  a  man  with  men. 

Were  it  not  thus,  O  King  of  my  salvation, 
Many  would  curse  to  Thee,  and  I  for  one, 

Fling  Thee  thy  bliss  and  snatch  at  thy  damnation, 
Scorn  and  abhor  the  shining  of  the  sun. 

Ring  with  a  reckless  shivering  of  laughter 

Wroth  at  the  woe  which  Thou  hast  seen  so  long  ; 
Question  if  any  recompense  hereafter 
Waits  to  atone  the  intolerable  wrong. 

F.  W.H.MYERS  (1843-190;.) 
(Saint  Paul). 


134  PAINE  AND  OTHERS 

Wiliest  be  asked,  "  requirest  to  be  asked,"  as  in  "  God  willeth  Samuel 
to  yield  unto  the  importunity  of  the  people  "  (i  Sam.  viii.,  in  margin). 

Saint  Paul  was  written  for  the  Seatonian  prize  for  religious  English 
verse,  Cambridge,  about  1866,  but  failed  to  secure  the  prize  ! 


(SPEAKING  of  future  state)  "  Those  who  are  neither  good  nor 
bad,  or  are  too  insignificant  for  notice,  will  be  dropt  entirely.  This 
is  my  opinion.  It  is  consistent  with  my'  idea  of  God's  justice, 
and  with  the  reason  that  God  has  given  me,  and  I  gratefully 
know  that  He  has  given  me  a  large  share  of  that  Divine  gift  "(!) 

THOMAS  PAINE 
(Age  of  Reason). 


SIXTEEN    CHARACTERISTICS   OF 
LOVE     (ArATTH). 

It  is  long-suffering.  9.  It  thinketh  no  evil. 

2.  is  kind.  10.         rejoiceth  not  in  iniquity. 

3.  envieth  not.  n.          rejoiceth  in  the  truth. 

4.  vaunteth  not  itself.        12.          beareth  all  things. 

5.  is  not  puffed  up.  13.          belie veth  all  things. 

6.  doth  not  behave  itself  14.          hopeth  all  things. 

unseemly.  15.          endureth  all  things 

7.  seeketh  not  its  own.      16.          never  faileth. 

8.  is  not  easily  provoked. 

ST.  PAUI, 
(i    Cor.  xiii.) 

'Aycfo-17,  brotherly  love,  "  Though  I  have  all  knowledge  and  all  faith, 
though  1  bestow  all  my  goods  to  feed  the  poor,  and  though  I  give  my  body  to 
be  burned,  and  have  not  iydwri,  it  profited  me  nothing."  (i  Cor.  xiii,  2). 


IN  the  Eighth  Century  B.C.,  in  the  heart  of  a  world  of  idola 
trous  pplytheists,  the  Hebrew  prophets  put  forth  a  conception 
of  religion  which  appears  to  be  as  wonderful  an  inspiration  of 
genius  as  the  art  of  Pheidias  or  the  science  of  Aristotle.  "  And 
what  doth  the  I<ord  require  of  thee,  but  to  do  justly,  and  to  love 
mercy,  and  to  walk  humbly  with  thy  God  ?  "  * 

T.  H.  HUXI.EY 
(Essays,  IV,    \6\). 


WORDSWORTH  AND  OTHERS  135 

THE)  best  of  all  we  do  and  are, 
Just   God,    forgive. 

WORDSWORTH 

(Thoughts  near  the  Residence  of  Burns). 


LOST  DAYS. 

THE)  lost  days  of  my  life  until  to-day, 
What  were  they,  could  I  see  them  on  the  street 
Ivie  as  they  fell  ?     Would  they  be  ears  of  wheat 

Sown  once  for  food  but  trodden  into  clay  ? 

Or  golden  coins  squandered  and  still  to  pay  ? 
Or  drops  of  blood  dabbling  the  guilty  feet  ? 
Or  such  spilt  water  as  in  dreams  must  cheat 

The  undying  throats  of  Hell,  athirst  alway  ? 

I  do  not  see  them  there  ;  but  after  death 
God  knows  I  know  the  faces  I  shall  see, 

Each  one  a  murdered  self,  with  low  last  breath. 

"  I    am   thyself, — what   hast   thou   done   to   me  ? 

"  And  I — and  I — thyself,"  (lo  !  each  one  saith,) 
"  And  thou  thyself  to  all  eternity  !  " 

D.  G.  ROSSETTI. 


COUNT  that  day  lost,  whose  low  descending  sun 
Views  from  thy  hand  no  worthy  action  done. 

ANON. 


BIRTHDAYS. 

"  TIME  is  the  stuff  of  life"  —  then  spend  not  thy  days  while  they 

last 

In  dreams  of  an  idle  future,  regrets  for  a  vanished  past  ; 
The  tombstones  He  thickly  behind  thee,  but.  the  stream  still  hurries 

thee  on, 
New  worlds  of  thought  to  be  traversed,  new  fields  to  be  fought 

and   won. 

Let  work  be  thy  measure  of  life  —  then  only  the  end  is  well  — 
The  birthdays  we  hail  so  blithely  are  strokes  of  the  passing  bell. 

W.  E.  H  . 


"  Dost  thou  love  life  ?     Then  do  not  squander  time,  for  that  is  the 
stuff  life  is  made  of."     (Franklin,  Poor  Richard's  Almanack,  1757.) 


136  GOETHE  AND  OTHERS 

NOTHING  is  of  greater  value  than  a  single  day. 

GOETHE 
(Spruche  itn  Prosa) 


TEARS  for  the  passionate  hearts  I  might  have  won, 
Tears  for  the  age  with  which  I  might  have  striven, 

Tears  for  a  hundred  years  of  work  undone, 
Crying  like  blood  to  Heaven. 

WM.  ALEXANDER. 


MY  life,  my  beautiful  life,  all  wasted  : 

The  gold  days,  the  blue  days,  to  darkness  sunk  ; 
The  bread  was  here,  and  I  have  not  tasted  : 

The  wine  was  here,  and  I  have  not  drunk. 

RICHARD  MEDDLETON. 

I  do  not  find  these  lines  in  Middleton's  collected  works,  but  I  think 
they  are  his. 


AND  the  nightingale  thought,  "  I  have  sung  many  songs 

But  never  a  one  so  gay, 
For  he  sings  of  what  the  world  will  be 
When  the  years  have  died  away." 

TENNYSON 
(The  Poet's  Song). 

This  often-quoted  verse  does  not  give  the  highest  view  of  poetry,  as 
Tennyson's  own  poems  show.     The  poet  sings  of  a  Universe, 

Which  moves  with  light  and  life  informed, 
Actual,  divine  and  true. 

He  sings  of  Nature,  Man,  God,  Immortality.     (This  note  is  from  an  early 
letter  of  Hodgson's.     His  quotation  is  from  The  Prelude,  Bk.  XIV.) 


WHY  are  Time's  feet  so  swift  and  ours  so  slow  ! 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACED. 


LAT1MER— ALDRICH  137 

WHO  is  the  most  diligent  bishop  and  prelate  in  all  England, 
that  passeth  all  the  rest  in  doing  his  office  ?  It  is  the  Devil. 
He  is  the  most  diligent  preacher  of  all  other,  he  is  never  out  of 
his  diocese,  ye  shall  never  find  him  unoccupied,  ye  shall  never 
find  him  out  of  the  way,  call  for  him  when  you  will ;  he  is  ever 
at  home,  the  diligentest  preacher  in  all  the  Realm ;  ye  shall  never 

find  him  idle,  I  warrant  you He  is  no  lordly  loiterer, 

but  a  bus}-  ploughman,  so  that  among  all  the  pack  of  them  the 
Devil  shall  go  for  my  money  !  Therefore,  ye  prelates.,  learn  of 
the  Devil  to  be  diligent  in  doing  of  your  office.  If  you  will  not 
learn  of  God  nor  good  men  :  for  shame  learn  of  the  Devil. 

BISHOP  lyATlMER 

(Sermon  on  the  Ploughets,   1549). 


APPRECIATION. 

TO  the  sea-shell's  spiral  round 
'Tis  your  heart  that  brings  the  sound  : 
The  .soft  sea-murmurs,  that  you  hear 
Within,  are  captured  from  your  ear. 

You  do  poets  arid  their  song 

A  grievous  wrong, 
If  your  own  soul  does  not  bring 
To  their  high  imagining 
As  much  beauty  as  they  sing, 

THOMAS  BAILEY  AI.DRICH. 


IN  the  present  day  it  is  not  easy  to  find  a  well-meaning  man 
among  our  more  earnest  thinkers,  who  will  not  take  upon  himself 
to  dispute  the  whole  system  of  redemption,  because  he  cannot 
unravel  the  mystery  of  the  punishment  of  sin.  But  can  he 
unravel  the  mystery  of  the  punishment  of  NO  sin  ?  Can  he 
entirely  account  for  all  that  happens  to  a  cab-horse  ?  Has  he 
ever  looked  fairly  at  the  fate  of  one  of  those  beasts  as  it  is  dying 
— measured  the  work  it  has  done,  and  the  reward  it  has  got — 
put  his  hand  upon  the  bloody  wounds  through  which  its  bones 
are  piercing,  and  so  looked  up  to  Heaven  with  an  entire  under- 
standing of  Heaven's  ways  about  the  horse  ?  Yet  the  horse  is 
a  fact — no  dream — no  revelation  among  the  myrtle  trees  by  night ; 


138  RUSKIN —WORDSWORTH 

and  the  dust  it  dies  upon,  and  the  dogs  that  eat  it,  are  facts  ; 
and  yonder  happy  person,  whose  the  horse  was,  till  its  knees  were 
broken  over  the  hiirdles  ;  who  had  an  immortal  soul  to  begin  with, 
and  wealth  and  peace  to  help  forward  his  immortality  ;  who 
has  also  devoted  the  powers  of  his  soul,  and  body,  and  wealth, 
and  peace,  to  the  spoiling  of  houses,  the  corruption  of  the  innocent, 
and  the  oppression  of  the  poor  ;  and  has,  at  this  actual  moment 
of  his  prosperous  life,  as  many  curses  waiting  round  about  him  in 
calm  shadow,  with  their  death-eyes  fixed  upon  him,  biding  their 
time,  as  ever  the  poor  cab-horse  had  launched  at  him  in  meaning- 
leas  blasphemies,  when  his  failing  feet  stumbled  at  the  stones, 
— this  happy  person  shall  have  no  stripes, — shall  have  only 
the  horse's  fate  of  annihilation  !  Or,  if  other  things  are  indeed 
reserved  for  him,  Heaven's  kindness  or  omnipotence  is  to  be 
doubted  therefore  ! 

We  cannot  reason  of  these  things.  But  this  I  know — and  this 
may  by  all  men  be  known — that  no  good  or  lovely  thing  exists 
in  this  world  without  its  correspondent  darkness  ;  and  that  the 
universe  presents  itself  continually  to  mankind  under  the  stern 
aspect  of  warning,  or  of  choice,  the  good  and  the  evil  set  on  the 
right  hand  and  the  left. 

JOHN  RUSKIN 

(Modern  Painters,  V,    19). 

It  is  one  of  the  arguments  in  Plato's  Pbaedo  that  the  soul  must  survive, 
since  otherwise  terribly  wicked  and  cruel  men  would  escape  retribution  ; 
annihilation  would  be  a  good  thing  for  them. 


creatures  and  all  objects,  in  degree, 
Are  friends  and  patrons  of  humanity. 
There  are  to  whom  the  garden,  grove  and  field 
Perpetual  lessons  of  forbearance  yield  ; 
Who  would  not  lightly  violate  the  grace 
The  lowliest  flower  possesses  in  its  place, 
Nor  shorten  the  sweet  life,  too  fugitive, 
Which  nothing  less  than  Infinite  Power  could  give. 

WORDSWORTH 
(Humanity). 


EVERY  man  is  not  a  proper  Champion  for  Truth,  nor  fit  to  take 
up  the  Gauntlet  in  the  cause  of  Verity  :  many,  from  the  ignorance 
of  these  Maximes,  and  an  inconsiderate  Zeal  unto  Truth,  have  too 
rashly  charged  the  troops  of  Error,  and  remain  as  Trophies  unto 
the  enemies  of  Truth.  A  man  may  be  in  as  just  possession  of 


BROWNE  AND  OTHERS  139 

Truth  as  of  a  City  and  yet  be  forced  to  surrender  ;  'tis  therefore 
far  better  to  enjoy  her  with  peace  than  to  hazzard  her  on  a  battle 

SIR  TIIOMAS  BROWNE 

(Religio  Medici). 


"  VERY  well,"  cried  I,  "  that's  a  good  girl ;  I  find  you  are 
perfectly  qualified  for  making  converts,  and  so  go  help  your 
mother  to  make  a  gooseberry  pye." 

GOLDSMITH 

(The    Vicar  of   Wake  field). 


WHITE-HANDED  Hope, 
Thou  hover  ing  Angel  girt  with  golden  wings. 

MILTON 
(Comus). 


HOPE,  folding  her  wings,  looked  backward  and  became  Regret. 

GEORGE  ELIOT 

(Silas  Marner,  ch.  15). 


BY  desiring  what  is  perfectly  good,  even  when  we  don't  quite 
know  what  it  is  and  cannot  do  what  we  would,  we  are  part  of 
the  divine  power  against  evil — widening  the  skirts  of  light 
and  making  the  struggle  with  darkness  narrower. 

GEORGE  ELIOT 
(Middlemarch,  ch.  39) 


WRINKL/ED  ostler,  grim  and  thin  ! 

Here  is  custom  come  your  way  ; 
Take  my  brute,  and  lead  him  in, 

Stuff  his  ribs  with  mouldy  hay.  .  . 


140  TENNYSON— MARTINEAU 

1  am  old,  but  let  me  drink  ; 

Bring  me  spices,  bring  me  wine  ; 
I  remember,  when  I  think, 

That  my  youth  was  half  divine.  .  .  . 

Fill  the  cup,  and  fill  the  can  : 

Have  a  rouse  before  the  morn  : 
Every  moment  dies  a  man, 

Every  moment  one  is  born.  .  . 

Chant  me  now  some  wicked  stave, 

Till  thy  drooping  courage  rise, 
And  the  glow-worm  of  the  grave 

Glimmer  in  thy  rheumy  eyes.  .  .  . 

Change,  reverting  to  the  years, 

When  thy  nerves  could  understand 

What  there  is  in  loving  tears, 

And  the  warmth  of  hand  in  hand.  .  .  . 

Fill  the  can,  and  fill  the  cup  : 

All  the  windy  days  of  men 
Are  but  dust  that  rises  up, 
And  is  lightly  laid  again. 

TENNYSON 
(The  Vision  of  Sin). 

Change — i.e.,  change  the  subject.     Many  verses  are  omitted  for  the 
sake  of  brevity. 


A  WORLD  without  a  contingency  or  an  agony  could  have  no  hero 
and  no  saint,  and  enable  no  Son  of  Man  to  discover  that  he  was  a 
Son  of  God.  But  for  the  suspended  plot,  that  is  folded  in  every 
life,  history  is  a  dead  chronicle  of  what  was  known  before  as  well 
as  after  ;  art  sinks  into  the  photograph  of  a  moment,  that  hints 
at  nothing  else  ;  and  poetry  breaks  the  cords  and  throws  the  lyre 
away.  There  is  no  Epic  of  the  certainties  ;  and  no  lyric  without 
the  surprise  of  sorrow  and  the  sigh  of  fear.  Whatever  touches  and 
ennobles  us  in  the  lives  and  in  the  voices  of  the  past  is  a  divine 
birth  from  human  doubt  and  pain.  I^et  then  the  shadows  lie,  and 
the  perspective  of  the  light  still  deepen  beyond  our  view  ;  else, 
while  we  walk  together,  our  hearts  will  never  burn  within  us  as 
we  go,  and  the  darkness  as  it  falls,  will  deliver  us  into  no  hand 
that  is  Divine. 

JAS.  MARTINEAU 
(Hours  of  Thought,   i,   328). 


f 


MARTiNEAU  141 

The  subject  of  the  sermon  is  the  uncertainties  of  life,  the  perils  and 
catastrophies  that  cannot  be  foreseen  or  provided  for,  death,  disease, 
and  other  ills  which  may  fall  upon  us  at  any  moment,  the  crises  that  arise 
in  the  history  of  men  and  nations.  It  is  by  reason  of  these  that  character 
is  formed.  If  everything  happened  by  known  rule,  and  could  be  predicted 
as  surely  as  the  movements  of  the  stars,  we  should  have  no  affections  or 
emotions  and  would  be  mere  creatures  of  habit. 

From  a  recent  book  of  poems,  The  Lily  of  Malud,  by  J.  C.  Squire, 
I  take  the  following  musical  verse.  ("  The"  Stronghold  "  is  where  pain, 
hate,  and  all  unpleasant  things  are  excluded  and  peace  only  reigns.) 

But  O,  if  you  find  that  castle, 

Draw  back  your  foot  from  the  gateway, 

Let  not  its  peace  invite  you, 

Let  not  its  offerings  tempt  you, 
For  faded  and  decayed  like  a  garment, 
Love  to  a  dust  will  have  fallen, 
And  song  and  laughter  will  have  gone  with  sorrow, 
And  hope  will  have  gone  with  pain  ; 
And  of  all  the  throbbing  heart's  high  courage 

Nothing  will  remain. 

Martineau  not  only  did  important  work  in  philosophy,  but  he  was 
also  eminent  as  a  moral  teacher.  Taking  together  his  originality,  sublimity 
of  soul,  and  beauty  of  expression,  the  sermons  in  Hours  of  Thought  and 
other  similar  writings  are  the  finest  product  of  modern  religious  thought. 
They  indeed  stand  among  the  best  productions  of  our  literature,  and  should 
be  read  even  by  those  (if  there  are  any  such  persons)  who  love  literature 
and  thought  but  are  indifferent  to  religion.  To  illustrate  this,  I  choose — 
almost  at  random — a  passage  where  the  thought  itself  has  no  interest 
outside  religion  (Hours  of  Thought,  II.  334)  : — 

Worship  is  the  free  offering  of  ourselves  to  God ;  ever  renewed, 
because  ever  imperfect.  It  expresses  the  consciousness  that  we  are 
His  by  right,  yet  have  not  duly  passed  into  His  hand  ;  that  the  soul 
has  no  true  rest  but  in  Him,  yet  has  wandered  in  strange  flights  until 
her  wing  is  tired.  It  is  her  effort  to  return  home,  the  surrender  again 
of  her  narrow  self-will,  her  prayer  to  be  merged  in  a  life  diviner  than  her 
own.  It  is  at  once  the  lowliest  and  loftiest  attitude  of  her  nature  : 
we  never  hide  ourselves  in  ravine  so  deep  ;  yet  overhead  we  never 
see  the  stars  so  clear  and  high.  The  sense  of  saddest  estrangement, 
yet  the  sense  also  of  eternal  affinity  between  us  and  God  meet  and 
mingle  in  the  act ;  breaking  into  the  strains,  now  penitential  and  now 
jubilant,  that,  to  the  critic's  reason,  may  sound  at  variance  but  melt 
into  harmony  in  the  ear  of  a  higher  love.  This  twofold  aspect  devotion 
must  ever  have,  pale  with  weeping,  flushed  with  joy  ;  deploring  the 
past,  trusting  for  the  future  ;  ashamed  of  what  is,  kindled  bv  what 
is  meant  to  be  ;  shadow  behind,  and  light  before.  Were  we  haunted 
by  no  presence  of  sin  and  want,  we  should  only  browse  on  the  pasture 
of  nature  ;  were  we  stirred  by  no  instinct  of  a  holier  kindred,  we  should 
not  be  drawn  towards  the  life  of  God, 


i42  WATERHOUSE  AND  OTHERS 

GROWN  UP. 

MY  son  is  straight  and  strong, 
Ready  of  lip  and  limb  ; 

'Twas  the  dream  of  my  whole  life  long 
To  bear  a  son  like  him. 


He  has  griefs  I  cannot  guess, 
He  has  joys  I  cannot  know  : 

I  love  him  none  the  less — 
With  a  man  it  should  be  so. 


But  where,   where,   where 

Is  the  child  so  dear  to  me, 
With  the  silken-golden  hair 

Who  sobbed  upon  my  knee  ? 

ELIZABETH  WATERHOUSE. 


FOR  her  alone  the  sea-breeze  seemed  to  blow, 
For  her  in  music  did  the  white  surf  fall, 
For  her  alone  the  wheeling  birds  did  call 
Over  the  shallows,  and  the  sky  for  her 
Was  set  with  white  clouds  far  away  and  clear, 
E'en  as  her  love,  this  strong  and  lovely  one, 
Who  held  her  hand,  was  but  for  her  alone. 

AUTHOR   NOT  TRACED. 
(Perseus  and  Andromeda). 


HE  cometh  not  a  king  to  reign  ; 

The  world's  long  hope  is  dim  ; 
The  weary  centuries  watch  in  vain 

The  clouds  of  heaven  for  Him. 


And  not  for  sign  in  heaven  above 

Or  earth  below  they  look, 
Who  know  with  John  His  smile  of  love. 

With  Peter  His  rebuke. 


WHITTIER— MASSE  Y  143 

In  joy  of  inward  peace,  or  sense 

Of  sorrow  over  sin, 
He  is  His  own  best  evidence 

His  witness  is  within. 


The  healing  of  His  seamless  dress, 

Is  by  our  beds  of  pain  ; 
We  touch  Him  in  life's  throng  and  press, 

And  we  are  whole  again. 

O  Lord  and  Master  of  us  all ! 

Whate'er  our  name  or  sign, 
We  own  Thy  sway,  we  hear  Thy  call, 

We  test  our  lives  by  Thine.  .  .  . 

Our  Friend,  our  Brother,  and  our  Lord, 

What  may  Thy  service  be  ? — 
Nor  name,  nor  form,  nor  ritual  word, 

But  simply  following  Thee. 

We  faintly  hear,  we  dimly  see, 
In  differing  phrase  we  pray  ; 
But,  dim  or  clear,  we  own  in  Thee, 
The  I/ight,  the  Truth,  the  Way  !      . 

JOHN  GREENT.EAF  WHITTIER. 
(Our  Master). 

Many  verses  are  omitted  from  this  poem  for  want  of  space,  and  the 
la  t  two  are  transposed  in  order. 


'TIS  weary  watching  wave  by  wave, 

And  yet  the  Tide  heaves  onward, 
We  climb,  like  Corals,  grave  by  grave. 

That  pave  a  pathway  sunward  ; 

We  are  driven  back,  for  our  next  fray 

A  newer  strength  to  borrow, 
And,  where  the  Vanguard  camps  To-day, 
The  Rear  shall  rest  To-morrow. 

GERALD  MASSEY 
(To-day  and  To-morrow]. 


144  NOVALIS  AND  OTHERS 

WHERE)  gods  are  not,  spectres  rule. 

f  WHERE  children  are  is  a  golden  age. 


A  PEOPLE,  like  a  child,  is  a  separate  educational  problem. 

NOVAIJS. 


ONCE  in  an  age,  God  sends  to  some  of  us  a  friend  who  loves 
in  us,  not  a  false  imagining,  an  unreal  character — but,  looking 
through  all  the  rubbish  of  our  imperfections,  loves  in  us  the  divine 
ideal  of  our  nature — loves,  not  the  man  that  we  are,  but  the  angel 
that  we  may  be.  Such  friends  seem  inspired  by  a  divine  gift 
of  prophecy — like  the  mother  of  St.  Augustine,  who,  in  the  midst 
of  the  wayward,  reckless  youth  of  her  son,  beheld  him  in  a  vision, 
standing,  clothed  in  white,  a  ministering  priest  at  the  right  hand 
of  God — as  he  has  stood  for  long  ages  since.  Could  a  mysterious 
foresight  unveil  to  us  this  resurrection  form  of  the  friends  with 
whom  we  daily  walk,  compassed  about  with  mortal  infirmity,  we 
should  follow  them  with  faith  and  reverence  through  all  the 
disguises  of  human  faults  and  weaknesses,  "  waiting  for  the 
manifestation  of  the  sons  of  God." 

HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE 
(The  Minister's  Wooing}. 


BECAUSE  thou  hast  the  power  and  own'st  the  grace 

To  look  through  and  behind  this  mask  of  me, 

(Against  which  years  have  beat  thus  blanchingly 

With  their  rains)  and  behold  my  soul's  true  face, 

The  dim  and  weary  witness  of  life's  race, — 

Because  thou  hast  the  faith  and  love  to  see, 

Through  that  same  soul's  distracting  lethargy. 

The  patient  angel  waiting  for  a  place 

In  the  new  Heavens, — because  nor  sin  nor  woe, 

Nor  God's  infliction,  nor  death's  neighbourhood, 

Nor  all  which  others  viewing,  turn  to  go, 

Nor  all  which  makes  me  tired  of  all,  self -viewed, — 

Nothing  repels  thee,  .  .  .  Dearest,  teach  me  so 

To  pour  out  gratitude,  as  thou  dost,  good  ! 

E.  B.  BROWNIXG 
(Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese}. 


COLLINS  145 

Here  two  fine  thoughts  of  Mrs.  Stowe  and  Mrs.  Browning  are  inspired 
by  the  vision  of  Monica,  the  saintly  mother  of  the  great  St.  Augustine 
(354-43°)- 

This  is  a  good  illustration  of  the  need  of  notes.  Without  a  reference 
to  St.  Monica's  vision,  I  think  that  readers  would  be  repelled,  rather  than 
attracted,  by  Mrs.  Browning's  sonnet.  It  does  not  accord  with  one's  sense 
of  modesty  that  a  lady  should  say  to  her  lover,  "  My  unattractive  person 
and  incurable  illness  turned  other  men  away,  but  you  saw  that,  behind  all 
this,  I  was  'a  patient  angel  waiting  for  a  place  in  the  new  Heavens.'  " 
I  myself  could  not  understand  how  Mrs.  Browning  could  write  and  her 
husband  could  publish  this  poem,  until  Hodgson,  in  one  of  his  letters  to 
me,  referred  to  "  the  use  made  by  Mrs.  Browning  of  St.  Monica's  vision  in 
one  of  her  sonnets." 

The  sonnet  is  not  quoted  as  one  of  the  finest  of  the  series. 

I  have  placed  Mrs.  Stowe's  quotation  first  for  an  obvious  reason  ;  but 
The  Minister's  Wooing  was  published  in  1859,  while  the  sonnet  appeared 
in  1847. 


DEATH  is  the  ocean  of  immortal  rest ;  .  .  . 

Where  shines  'mid  laughing  waves  a  far-off  isle  for  me 

Why  fear  ?  The  light  wind  whitens  all  the  brine, 
And  throws  fresh  foam  upon  the  marble  shores; 
Or  it  may  be  that  strong  and  strenuous  oars 

Must  force  the  shallop  o'er  the  hyaline  ; 
But,  welcome  utter  calm  or  bitter  blast, — 

The  voyage  will  be  done,  the  island  reached  at  last. 


Will  it  be  thus  when  the  strange  sleep  of  Death 
Lifts  from  the  brow,  and  lost  eyes  live  again  ? 
Will  morning  dawn  on  the  bewildered  brain, 

To  cool  and  heal  ?     And  shall  I  feel  the  breath 
Of  freshening  winds  that  travel  from  the  sea, 

And  meet  thy  loving,  laughing  eyes,  Earine  ? 


O  virgin  world  !     O  marvellous  far  days  ! 

No  more  with  dreams  of  grief  doth  love  grow  bitter 

Nor  troiible  dim  the  lustre  wont  to  glitter 
In  happy  eyes.     Decay  alone  decays  ; 

A  moment — death's  dull  sleep  is  o'er  and  we 
Drink  the  immortal  morning  air,  Earine. 

MORTIMER  COI.UNS. 


1 46  LICHTENBERG  AND  OTHERS 

WE  live  in  a  world,  where  one  fool  makes  many  fools, 
but  one  wise  man  only  a  few  wise  men. 

LICHTENBERG. 


C)  LADY  !  We  receive  but  what  we  give, 

And  in  our  life  alone  does  Nature  live  : 

Ours  is  her  wedding-garment,  ours  her  shroud  ! 

And  would  we  aught  behold,  of  higher  worth, 
Than  that  inanimate  cold  world  allowed 
To  the  poor  loveless  ever-anxious  crowd, 

Ah,  from  the  soul  itself  must  issue  forth 
A  light,  a  glory,  a  fair  luminous  cloud 

Enveloping  the  Earth — 
And  from  the  soul  itself  must  there  be  sent 

A  sweet  and  potent  voice,  of  its  own  birth, 
Of  all  sweet  sounds  the  life  and  element ! 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE 

(Dejection} . 
See  note  to  next  quotation. 


TELLING  STORIES. 

A  LITTLE  child  He  took  for  sign 
To  them  that  sought  the  way  Divine. 

And  once  a  flower  sufficed  to  show 
The  whole  of  that  we  need  to  know. 

Now  here  we  lie,  the  child  and  1, 
And  watch  the  clouds  go  floating  by, 

Just  telling  stories  turn  by  turn.  .  .  . 
Lord,  which  is  teacher,  which  doth  learn  ? 

H.  D.  LOWRY. 

As  Coleridge  says  in  the  last  quotation,  "  We  receive  but  what  we  give." 
We  bring  with  us  the  mind  that  sees,  and  the  feelings  and  emotions"  with 
which  we  contemplate  the  universe ;  and,  so  far  as  use,  habit,  and  other 
causes  still  the  activity  and  lessen  the  receptivity  of  the  mind  and  spirit, 
the  world  around  us  becomes  less  instinct  with  life  and  beauty. 

Putting  aside  the  question  whether,  as  Wordsworth  says  in  his  great 
Ode, 

Trailing  clouds  of  glory  do  we  come 
From  God,  who  is  our  home, 


PATMORE  147 

it  will  be  familiar  to  anyone  who  has  a  sympathetic,  appraciative  sense 
that  the  child's  outlook  on  the  world  around  him  is  very  different  from  our 
own.  It  has  in  him  a  more  intense  emotional  reaction.  He  sees  it  with 
a  freshness  and  wonder  unfolt  by  us,  because  our  sensibility  is  blunted  and 
less  vivid.  And  for  the  same  reason  that  we  trust  our  faculties  in  their 
prime  rather  than  in  their  degeneration,  so  the  fresh  and  clear  emotional 
response  of  a  child's  nature  represents  more  truth/id  appreciation  than  our 
own.  Our  sensibility  is  blunted,  not  only  by  use  and  habit,  but  also  by 
the  hardening  and  coarsening  experiences  of  our  lives  ;  and  also  again  bj  the 
development  of  intellect,  which  grows  largely  at  the  expense  of  the  emotions. 
We  lose  the  transparent  soul  of  the  child,  his  simple  faith  and  trusting 
nature.  To  anyone  who  cannot  feel  the  difference  between  the  child's 
outlook  and  his  own,  this  will  convey  no  meaning  —  and  words  cannot  assist 
him.  It  is  as  if  one  tried  to  describe  love  to  a  person  who  has  never  loved, 
or  a  religious  experience  to  one  who  has  never  had  such  an  experience, 
indeed,  in  both  lore  and  religious  experience,  there  is  the  same  child-like 
attitude  of  pure  emotion  ;  and  hence  Christ's  comparison  of  His  true  followers 
to  "  little  children."  Poetry,  music,  love  of  nature,  and  the  highest  art 
produce  in  us  at  times  the  same  indefinable  feeling  and  give  us  back  for 
evanescent  periods  the  fresh,  clear,  emotional  sensibility  of  a  child. 

In  Edward  Fitzgerald's  Eupbranor,  at  the  point  where  Wordsworth's 
ode  is  being  discussed,  the  following  passage  is  interesting  :  — 

"  I  have  heard  tell  of  another  poet's  saying  that  he  knew  of  no  human 
outlook  so  solemn  as  that  from  an  infant's  eyes  ;  and  how  it  was  from  those 
of  his  own  he  learned  that  those  of  the  Divine  Child  in  Raffaelle's  Sistine 
Madonna  were  not  overcharged  with  expression,  as  he  had  previously 
thought  they  might  be." 

"  Yes,"  said  I.  "  that  was  on  the  occasion,  I  think,  of  his  having  watched 
his  child  one  morning  worshipping  the  sunbeam  on  the  bedpost  —  I  suppose 
the  worship  of  wonder  .....  If  but  the  philosopher  or  poet  could  live 
in  the  child's  brain  for  a  while  !  " 

(The  poet  referred  to  wa«  Tennyson,  see  Memoir  by  his  son,  the  baby 
in  question,  Vol.  I.,  357). 

THE  REVELATION 

AN  idle  poet,  here  and  there, 

I/x>ks  round  him  ;  but.  for  all  the  rest, 

The  world,  unfathomably  fair, 
Is  duller  than  a  witling's  jest. 


wakes  men,  once  a  life-time  each  ; 
They  lift  their  heavy  heads  and  look  ; 
And,  lo,  what  one  sweet  page  can  teach 
They  read  with  joy,  then  shut  the  book. 

And  some  give  thanks,  and  some  blaspheme, 
And  most  forget  :  but,  either  way, 

That,  and  the  Child's  unheeded  dream, 
Is  all  the  light  of  all  their  day. 

COVENTRY  PATMORK  (1823-1896). 


i48  JAMES— POPE 

THE  normal  process  of  life  contains  moments  as  bad  as  any 
of  those  which  insane  melancholy  is  filled  with.  The  lunatic's 
visions  of  horror  are  all  drawn  from  the  material  of  daily  fact. 
Our  civilization  is  founded  on  the  shambles,  and  every  individual 
existence  goes  out  in  a  lonely  spasm  of  helpless  agony.  If  you 
protest,  my  friend,  wait  till  you  arrive  there  yourself !  *  To 
believe  in  the  carnivorous  reptiles  of  geologic  times  is  hard  for  our 
imagination — they  seem  too  much  like  mere  museum  specimens. 
Yet  there  is  no  tooth  in  any  one  of  those  museum-skulls  that 
did  not  daily,  through  long  years  of  the  foretime,  hold  fast  to 
the  body  struggling  in  despair  of  some  fated  living  victim.  Forms 
of  horror  just  as  dreadful  to  their  victims,  if  on  a  smaller  spatial 
scale,  fill  the  world  about  us  to-day.  Here  on  our  very  hearths  and 
in  our  gardens  the  infernal  cat  plays  with  the  panting  mouse,  or 
holds  the  hot  bird  fluttering  in  her  jaws.  Crocodiles  and  rattlesnakes 
and  pythons  are  at  this  moment  vessels  of  life  as  real  as  we  are  ; 
their  loathsome  existence  fills  every  minute  of  every  day  that 
drags  its  length  along,  and  whenever  they  or  other  wild  beasts 
clutch  their  living  prey,  the  deadly  horror  which  an  agitated 
melancholiac  feels  is  the  literally  right  reaction  on  the  situation. 

WIGWAM  JAMES 
(The  Varieties  of  Religions  Experience] 

ET  in  Arcadia  ego. 

(I  too  have  been  in  Arcady.) 

ANON. 

Arcadia  was  a  mountainous  district  in  Greece  which  was  taken  to  be 
the  deal  of  pastoral  simplicity  and  rural  happiness— as  in  Sir  Philip 
Sidney's  Arcadia  and  other  literature.  It  was  famous  for  its  musicians  and 
a  favourite  haunt  of  Pan. 

The  saying  is  best  known  from  the  fine  landscape  in  the  Louvre  by  N. 
Poussin  (1594-1665).  In  part  of  the  landscape  is  a  tomb  on  which  these 
words  are  written,  and  some  young  people  are  seen  reading  them.  I  learn, 
however,  from  King's  Classical  and  Foreign  Quotations  that  the  words  had 
been  previously  written  on  a  picture  by  Bart.  Schidone  (1570-1615),  where 
two  young  shepherds  are  looking  at  a  skull. 

The  meaning  intended  was  that  death  came  even  to  the  joyous  shepherds 
of  Arcady.  But  the  quotation  is  now  used  in  a  more  general  sense.  "  I 
too  had  my  golden  days  of  youth  and  love  and  happiness." 

IT  often  happens  that  those  are  the  best  people,  whose  characters 
have  been  most  injured  by  slanderers  ;  as  we  usually  find  that 
to  be  the  sweetest  fruit  which  the  birds  have  been  pecking  at. 

AJJEXANDER  POPE. 

*  One  certainly  protests.  There  is  a  great  mass  of  medical  and  other  svidence  to  the 
contrary.  Sir  William  Osier  made  note*  of  about  500  cases,  and  says  "  To  the  great 
majority  their  death,  like  their  birth,  was  a  «leep  and  a  forgetting." 


NOVALIS  AND  OTHERS  149 

THERE  are  many  flowers  of  heavenly  origin  in  this  world  ; 
they  do  not  flourish  in  this  climate  but  are  properly  heralds, 
clear-voiced  messengers  of  a  better  existence  :  Religion  is  one  ; 
I/ove  is  another. 

NOVAUS. 


ON  DYING 

I  AIRWAYS  made  an  awkward  bow. 

KEATS. 


ON  n'a  pas  d'antecedent  pour  cela.     II  faut  improviser — c'est 
done  si  difficile.     (Death  admits  of  no  rehearsal.) 

AMIEI. 


C'EST  le  maltre  jour  ;  c'est  le  jour  juge  de  tous  les  autres.     (It 
is  the  master-day  ;  the  day  that  judges  all  the  others.) 

MONTAIGNE. 


WIIyL  she  return,  my  lady  ?  Nay  : 
Love's  feet,  that  once  have  learned  to  stray, 
Turn  never  to  the  olden  way. 

Ah,  heart  of  mine,  where  lingers  she  ? 
By  what  live  stream  or  saddened  sea  ? 
What  wild-flowered  swath  of  sungilt  lea 

Do  her  feet  press,  and  are  her  days 
Sweet  with  new  stress  of  love  and  praise, 
Or  sad  with  echoes  of  old  lays  ? 

JOHN  PAYNE 
(Light  o'  Love). 


I  SEARCH  but  cannot  see 

What  purpose  serves  the  soul  that  strives,  or  world  it  tries 
Conclusions  with,  unless  the  fruit  of  victories 
Stay,  one  and  all,  stored  up  and  guaranteed  its  own 
For  ever,  by  some  mode  whereby  shall  be  made  known 
The  gain  of  every  life. 


ISO  BROWNING  AND  OTHERS 

I  say,  I  cannot  think  that  gains — which  will  not  be 

Except  a  special  soul  had  gained  them — that  such  gain 

Can  ever  be  estranged,  do  aught  but  appertain 

Immortally,  by  right  firm,  indefeasible, 

To  who  performed  the  feat,  through  God's  grace  and  man's  will. 

R.  BROWNING 

(Fifine  at  the  Fair). 


NATURE,  they  say,  doth  dote 
And  cannot  make  a  man 
Save  on  some  worn-out  plan 
Repeating  us  by  rote. 

J.  R. 
(Ode  at  Harvard  Commemoration). 

DIE  when  I  may,  I  want  it  said  of  me  by  those  who  knew 
ine  best,  that  I  always  plucked  a  thistle  and  planted  a  flower, 
where  I  thought  a  flower  would  grow. 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 


WHY  describe  our  life-history  as  a  state  of  waking  rather  than 
of  sleep  ?  Why  assume  that  sleep  is  the  acquired,  vigilance 
the  normal  condition  ?  It  would  not  be  hard  to  defend  the 
opposite  thesis.  The  newborn  infant  might  urge  with  cogency 
that  his  habitual  state  of  slumber  was  primary,  as  regards  the  indi- 
vidual, ancestral  as  regards  the  race  ;  resembling  at  least,  far  more 
closely  than  does  our  adult  life,  a  primitive  or  protozoic  habit. 
"  Mine,"  he  might  say,  "  is  a  centrally  stable  state.  It  would 
need  only  some  change  in  external  conditions  (as  the  permanent 
immersion  in  a  nutritive  fluid)  to  be  safely  and  indefinitely 
maintained.  Your  waking  state,  on  the  other  hand,  is  centrally 
unstable.  While  you  talk  and  bustle  around  me  you  are  living 
on  your  physiological  capital,  and  the  mere  prolongation  of 
vigilance  is  torture  and  death." 

A  paradox  such  as  this  forms  no  part  of  my  argument ;  but  it 
may  remind  us  that  physiology  at  any  rate  hardly  warrants 
us  in  speaking  of  our  waking  state  as  if  that  alone  represented 
our  true  selves,  and  every  deviation  from  it  must  be  at  best 
a  mere  interruption.  Vigilance  in  reality  is  but  one  of  two 
co-ordinate  phases  of  our  personality,  which  we  have  acquired 
or  differentiated  from  each  other  during  the  stages  of  our  long 
evolution. 

F.  W.  H.  MYERS 
(Multiplex  Personality). 


MYERS  151 

This  is  from  an  article  in  The  Nineteenth  Century  for  November,  1886, 
in  which  Myers  urged  the  study  of  the  trance-personalities  that  exhibit 
themselves  under  hypnotism.  In  his  Human  Personality  and  Its  Survival 
of  Bodily  Death  his  views  on  sleep  may  be  very  briefly  summarized  as  follows: 
In  the  low  forms  of  animal  life  there  is  an  undifferentiated  state,  neither 
sleep  nor  waking,  and  this  is  also  seen  in  our  prenatal  and  earliest  infantile 
life.  In  life  generally  the  waking  time  can  exist  only  for  brief  periods 
continuously.  We  cannot  continue  life  without  resort  to  the  fuller  vitality 
which  sleep  brings  to  us.  Again,  from  the  original  undifferentiated  state, 
our  waking  life  has  been  developed  by  practical  needs  ;  the  faculties  required 
for  our  earthly  life  then  become  intensified,  but  by  natural  selection  other 
faculties  and  sensations  (including  those  which  connect  us  with  the  spiritual 
world)  are  dropped  out  of  our  consciousness.  The  state  of  sleep  cannot  be 
regarded  as  the  mere  absence  of  waking  faculties.  In  this  state  we  have  some 
faint  glimmer  of  the  other  faculties  and  sensations  in  various  forms — dreams, 
somnambulism,  etc.  Myers  then  develops  the  theory  that  the  relations 
of  hysteria  and  genius  to  ordinary  life  correspond  to  those  of  somnambulism 
and  hypnotic  trance  to  sleep;  and  he  arrives  at  the  question  of  self- 
suggestion  and  hypnotism  generally. 

Thus  in  sleep  there  art,  first,  certain  physiological  changes  (including 
a  greater  control  of  the  physical  organism,  as  seen  in  the  muscular  powers 
of  somnambulists) ;  no  length  of  time  spent  lying  down  awake  in  darkness 
and  silence  will  give  the  recuperative  effect  that  even  a  few  moments  of 
sleep  will  give.  But  also,  secondly,  we  find  existing  in  sleep  the  other 
faculties  withdrawn  from  use  in  ordinary  waking  life.  Thus  during  sleep 
we  find  memory  revived,  problems  unexpectedly  solved,  poems  like  "  Kubla 
Khan  "  composed,  and  many  intense  sensations  and  emotions  experienced. 
Beyond  these  powers  again  Myers  finds  in  sleep  still  higher  powers  which 
seem  to  connect  us  with  the  spiritual  world.  Hence  the  advisability  of 
studying  the  phenomena  of  sleep  and  investigating  it  experimentally  by 
employing  hypnotism. 

William  James  adopted  much  the  same  view  as  Myers  (see,  for  example, 
The  Varieties  of  Religious  Experience}.  But  much  has  been  written  of  late 
about  sub-consciousness  and  about  dreams;  and  the  tendency  is  rather 
to  follow  Martineau's  view  of  mental  development — that  the  lower  nervous 
centres  are  unconscious  "  habits  "  deposited  from  the  old  intelligence  (see 
p.  304).  Thus,  for  instance,  memories  of  the  past  would  be  recorded  in  the 
sub-conscious,  but  there  is  nothing  to  be  found  there  of  a  higher  character 
than  in  the  conscious  self.  In  sleep,  the  waking  control  being  removed, 
our  dreams  reveal  impulses  and  desires  that  have  been  inhibited  or  kept 
under  in  waking  life,  but  do  not  reveal  anything  of  the  higher  indicated 
by  Myers.  However,  although  it  is  too  large  a  subject  to  discuss  here,  there 
is  a  vast  deal  yet  to  be  explained,  as,  for  example,  inspiration,  and  what  we 
used  to  call  "  unconscious  cerebration,"  and  the  amazing  results  of  hypnotism 
and  suggestion.  Also  who  or  what  is  it  that  composes  the  dream-story, 
or  who  or  what  makes  us  act  or  dream  the  story  ? 

WITHOUT  good  nature  man  is  but  a  better  kind  of  vermin. 


EXTREME  self -lovers  will  set  a  man's  house  on  fire,  though  it 
were  but  to  roast  their  eggs. 

BACQN. 


152  CLOUGH   AND   OTHERS 

WHERE  lies  the  land  to  which  the  ship  would  go  ? 
Far,  far  ahead,  is  all  her  seamen  know. 
And  where  the  land  she  travels  from  ?     Away, 
Far,  far  behind,  is  all  that  they  can  say. 

On  sunny  noons  upon  the  deck's  smooth  face, 
Linked  arm  in  arm,  how  pleasant  here  to  pace  ; 
Or,  o'er  the  stern  reclining,  watch  below 
The  foaming  wake  far  widening  as  we  go. 

On  stormy  nights  when  wild  north-westers  rave, 
How  proud  a  thing  to  fight  with  wind  and  wave  ! 
The  dripping  sailor  on  the  reeling  mast 
Exults  to  hear,  and  scorns  to  wish  it  past. 

Where  lies  the  land  to  which  the  ship  would  go  ? 
Far,  far  ahead,  is  all  her  seamen  know. 
And  where  the  land  she  travels  from  ?     Away, 
Far,  far  behind,  is  all  that  they  can  say. 

A.  H.  CipUGH 
(Songs  in  Absence) 

The  Ship  is  the  ship  of  life.     The  first  line  is  taken  from  Wordswoith's 
sonnet,  "  Where  lies  the  land  to  which  yon  Ship  must  go." 

THE  brooding  East  with  awe  beheld 
Her  impious  younger  world. 
The  Roman  tempest  swell'd  and  swell'd, 
And  on  her  head  was  hurled. 

The  East  bowed  low  before  the  blast 
In  patient,  deep  disdain  ; 
She  let  the  legions  thunder  past, 
And  plunged  in  thought  again. 

M.  ARNOLD 
(Obermann  Once   More) 


LEARN  to  win  a  lady's  faith 

Nobly  as  the  thing  is  high, 
Bravely  as  for  life  and  death, 
With  a  loyal  gravity. 

E.  B.  BROWNING 
(The  Lady's   Yes). 


BRAY  153 


THE;  CORAI,  REEF 

IN  my  dreams  I  dreamt 

Of  a  coral  reef — 
Far  away,  far,  far  away, 
Where  seas  were  lulled  and  calm, 
A  place  of  silver  sand. 

Truly  a  lovely  land, 

Truly  a  lovely  dream, 

Truly  a  peaceful  scene — 
When,  like  a  flash,  through  all  the  sea 

There  shone  a  gleam. 
Rising  like  Venus  from  her  wat'ry  bed 
Rose  a  young  mermaid  with  her  hair  unkempt, 
Beautiful  hair  !  light  as  a  golden  leaf, 
Shining  like  Phoebus  at  the  break  of  day. 

And  she  tossed  and  shook  her  lovely  head, 
Shook  off  drops  more  precious,  far,  than  pearls. 

To  a  coral  rock  she  slowly  went, 

Slowly  floated  like  a  graceful  swan  ; 

Combed  her  hair  that  hung  in  yellow  curls 

Till  the  evening  shadows  'gan  to  fall  ; 
Then  she  gave  one  look  round,  that  was  all, 

Rose — and  then,  her  figure  curved,  arms  bent 
Above  her  head — a  flash  !    and  she  was  gone  ; 
And  ripples  in  wide  circles  rise  and  fall, 
Spreading  and  spreading  still,  where  she  has  been. 

BETTY  BRAY,  January  1918. 
Aged  ii. 

Se«  Note  on  page  155. 


BENEATH  MY  WINDOW 

BENEATH  my  window,  roses  red  and  white 
Nod  like  a  host  of  flitting  butterflies  ; 
But,  faded  by  the  day,  one  ev'ry  night 
Shakes  its  soft  petals  to  the  ground,  and  dies. 
And  that  is  why  I  see,  when  night  doth  pass, 
Tears  in  her  sisters'  eyes,  and  on  the  grass. 

BETTY  BRAY,  1920 
Aged  1 3 . 


154  BRAY 


MUSIC 

THREE  wondrous  things  there  are  upon  the  earth 
Three  gentle  spirits,  that  I  love  full  well, 
Three  glorious  voices,  which  by  far  excel 
Even  the  silver- throated   Philomel. 


For  not  in  sound  alone  lies  music's  worth, 
But  rather  in  the  feeling  that  it  brings, 
Whether  of  joy,  or  peace,  or  dreaminess 


And  when  I  hear  the  rain  soft,  softly  beat, 
Singing  with  low,  sweet  voice,  and  musical, 
I  think  of  all  the  tears  that  ever  fell 
In  perfect  happiness,  or  deep  distress, 
And  so  it  brings  a  pang,  half  sad,  half  sweet, 
Into  my  heart. 


Then,  when  the  sparkling  rill 
Dances  between  the  sunny  banks,  and  sings 
For  very  joy,  all  dimpling  with  delight, 

O  all  the  happy  laughter  'neath  the  sky 

Rings  sweet  and  clear,  and  makes  the  world  more  bright. 


And,  when  the  sun  has  sunk  beneath  the  sea 
And  vanished  from  the  glory  of  the  west, 
Tyeaving  the  peaceful  eve  to  melt  to  night. — 

O  then  it  is  the  loveliest  voice  of  all, 

The  gentle  night-wind  softly  sings  to  me, 

Tender  and  low,  as  sweetest  lullaby 

As  ever  hushed  a  weary  head  to  rest : 

On,  on  it  sings,  until  from  drowsiness 

My  tired  eyes  softly  close,  and  all  is  still. 

BETTY  BRAY.  1920 
Aged   13. 


BRAY— MIJVTOW  155 

THE  MARTYR 

WHEN  night  fell  softly  on  the  silent  city, 
A  little  white  moth  thro'  my  window  came 
Out  of  the  darkness  and  the  shadows  dim, 
Seeking  the  brightness  of  my  candle's  flame. 
Around  and  round  the  lighted  wick  he  flew, 
Winging  his  wonderful  and  curious  flight ; 

And  near,  and  still  more  near,  the  circles  grew 

And  then — the  flame  no  more  was  bright  for  him. 
Then  all  my  heart  went  out  in  sudden  pity 
To  that  small  martyr,  who  had  sought  for  light. 
And  found — his  death.     O  he  was  fair  to  die. 
I  rose  and  snuffed  the  candle  with  a  sigh. 

BETTY  BRAY,  September  26,  1920. 
Aged  14  years. 

These  fresh,  clear,  spontaneous  verses  have  a  special  value.  They 
bring  us  a  promise  of  Spring — the  message  that  we  may  still  hope  for  a 
revival  of  English  Poetry. 

Therefore,  I  have  included  them  (in  this  third  edition)  although  they 
are  outside  the  general  scope  of  my  book. 

Miss  Betty  Bray  has  been  writing  since  she  was  seven  years  of  age. 
She  writes  with  great  facility  and  has  already  filled  two  manuscript  books. 
Her  verses  are  entirely  her  own,  no  defects  being  pointed  out  or  other 
assistance  or  guidance  given  her. 

She  was  born  on  June  i  ith,  1906.  She  is  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Denys  de 
Saumarez  Bray,  C.S.I.,  and  the  grand-niece  of  my  late  partner  the  Hon.  Sir 
John  Bray,  K.C.M.G.,  who  was  Premier  of  South  Australia.  Her  grand- 
fath«r  was  born  in  Adelaide. 


THUS  with  the  year 
Seasons  return  ;  but  not  to  me  returns 
Day,  or  the  sweet  approach  of  even  or  morn, 
Or  sight  of  vernal  bloom,  or  summer's  rase, 
Or  flocks,  or  herds,  or  human  face  divine  ; 
But  cloud  instead,  and  ever-during  dark 
Surrounds  me,  from  the  cheerful  ways  of  men 
Cut  off,  and  for  the  book  of  knowledge  fair 
Presented  with  a  universal  blank 
Of  nature's  works  to  me  expung'd  and  ras'd, 
And  wisdom  at  one  entrance  quite  shut  out. 

MILTON 

(Paradise  Lost), 

Milton  refers  to  his  blindness  in  this  and  other  passages — as  in  the  well 
known  sonnet. 


156  PATMORE  AND  OTHERS 

THE  ATTAINMENT 

YOU  love  ?     That's  high  as  you  shall  go  ; 

For  'tis  as  true  as  Gospel  text, 
Not  noble  then  is  never  so, 

Either  in  this  world  or  the  next. 

COVENTRY  PATMORE 
(The  Angel  in  the  House). 


FOR  one  fair  Vision  ever  fled 

Down  the  waste  waters  day  and  night, 
And  still  we  follow  where  she  led, 

In  hope  to  gain  upon  her  flight. 
Her  face  was  evermore  unseen, 

And  fixt  upon  the  far  sea-line  ; 
But  each  man  murmured,  "  O  my  Queen, 

I  follow  till  I  make  thee  mine  !  " 

And  now  we  lost  her,  now  she  gleamed 

Like  Fancy  made  of  golden  air, 
Now  nearer  to  the  prow  she  seemed 

Like  Virtue  firm,  like  Knowledge  fair, 
Now  high  on  waves  that  idly  burst 

Like  Heavenly  Hope  she  crowned  the  sea, 
And  now,  the  bloodless  point  reversed, 

She  bore  the  blade  of  Liberty. 

TENNYSON 
(The   Voyage). 


KING  Stephen  was  a  worthy  peere, 

His  breeches  cost  him  but  a  crowne  ; 
He  held  them  sixpence  all  too  deare 

Therefore  he  called  the  taylor  lowne,  rascal 

He  was  a  wight  of  high  renowne 

And  thouse  but  of  a  low  degree,  thou   art 

It's  pride  that  putts  the  countrye  downe, 

Man,  take  thine  old  cloake  about  thee. 

PERCY'S  Rehques. 

The  poor  man  wants  a  new  cloak,  but  his  wife  objects. 

The  verse  is  sung  by  lago  (Othello,  Act  II.,  Sc.  3),  the  words  being 
a  little  different. 


BEDDOES—  BROWNING  157 

LOVE'S  LAST  MESSAGES 

MERRY,  merry  little  stream, 

Tell  me,  hast  thou  seen  my  dear  ? 

I  left  him  with  an  azure  dream, 
Calmly  sleeping  on  his  bier — 
But  he  has  fled  ! 

"  I  passed  him  in  his  churchyard  bed — 

A  yew  is  sighing  o'er  his  head, 

And  grass-roots  mingle  with  his  hair." 

What  doth  he  there  ? 
O  cruel,  can  he  lie  alone  ? 
Or  in  the  arms  of  one  more  dear  ? 
Or  hides  he  in  that  bower  of  stone, 

To  cause,  and  kiss  away  my  fear  .' 

"  He  doth  not  speak,  he  doth  not  moan — 

Blind,  motionless,  he  lies  alone  ; 

But,  ere  the  grave-snake  fleshed  his  sting, 

This  one  warm  tear  he  bade  me  bring 
And  lay  it  at  thy  feet 
Among  the  daisies  sweet." 

Moonlight  whisperer,  summer  air, 

Songster  of  the  groves  above, 
Tell  the  maiden  rose  I  wear 

Whether  thou  hast  seen  my  love. 

"  This  night  in  heaven  I  saw  him  lie, 

Discontented  with  his  bliss  ; 

And  on  my  lips  he  left  this  kiss, 
For  thee  to  taste  and  then  to  die." 

T.  Iv,  BEDDOES  (1803-1849). 

Beddoes  intended  to  destroy  this  poem,  but  it  was  published  without 
his  knowledge.  This  is  one  of  the  cases  where  artists  have  shown  themselves 
incapable  critics  of  their  own  work. 

O  EARTH  so  full  of  dreary  noises  ! 
O  men  with  wailing  in  your  voices  ! 
O  delved  gold,  the  wailers  heap  ! 
O  strife,  O  curse  that  o'er  it  fall ! 
God  strikes  a  silence  through  you  all 
And  giveth  His  beloved  sleep, 

E.  B.  BROWNING 
(The  Sleep). 


158  EMERSON-SMITH 

GIVE  all  to  love  ; 

Obey  thy  heart; 

Friends,  kindred,  days, 

Estate,  good-fame. 

Plans,  credit,  and  the  Muse,— 

Nothing  refuse. 


Cling  with  life  to  the  maid  ; 

But  when  the  surprise, 

First  vague  shadow  of  surmise 

Flits  across  her  bosom  young 

Of  a  joy  apart  from  thee, 

Free  be  she,  fancy-free  ; 

Nor  thou  detain  her  vesture's  hem 

Nor  the  palest  rose  she  flung 

From  her  summer  diadem. 

Though  thou  loved  her  as  thyself, 
As  a  self  of  purer  clay, 
Though  her  parting  dims  the  day, 
Stealing  grace  from  all  alive  ; 
Heartily  know, 
When  half-gods  go 
The  gods  arrive. 

R.  W.  EMERSON 
(Give  all  to  Love) . 


ON  Dreamthorp  centuries  have  fallen,  and  have  left  no  more 
trace  than  have  last  winter's  snowflakes.  This  commonplace 
sequence  and  flowing  on  of  life  is  immeasurably  affecting.  That 
winter  morning  when  Charles  lost  his  head  in  front  of  the 
banqueting-hall  of  his  own  palace,  the  icicles  hung  from  the  eaves 
of  the  houses  here,  and  the  clown  kicked  the  snowballs  from  his 
clouted  shoon,  and  thought  but  of  his  supper  when,  at  three 

o'clock,   the  red  sun  set  in  the  purple  mist Battles 

have  been  fought,  kings  have  died,  history  has  transacted  itself  ; 
but,  all  unheeding  and  untouched,  Dreamthorp  has  watched 
apples-trees  redden,  and  wheat  ripen,  and  smoked  its  pipe, 
and  quaffed  its  mug  of  beer,  and  rejoiced  over  its  newborn  children, 
and  with  proper  solemnity  carried  its  dead  to  the  churchyard. 

ALEXANDER  SMITH 
(Dreamthorp). 


SIDNEY  AND  OTHERS  159 

O  MOON,  tell  me, 

Is  constant  love  deemed  there  but  want  of  wit  ? 
Are  beauties  there  as  proud  as  here  they  be  ? 
Do  they  above  love  to  be  loved,  and  yet 
Those  lovers  scorn,  whom  that  love  doth  possess  ? 
Do  they  call  virtue  there  ungratefulness  ? 

SIR  P.  SIDNEY. 

"  Do  they  call  ungratefulness  a  virtue  ?  " 

QUIXOTISM,  or  Utopianism  :  that  is  another  of  the  devil's  pet 
words.  I  believe  the  quiet  admission  which  we  are  all  of  us 
so  ready  to  make,  that,  because  things  have  long  been  wrong, 
it  is  impossible  they  should  ever  be  right,  is  one  of  the  most 
fatal  sources  of  misery  and  crime  from  which  this  world  suffers. 
Whenever  you  hear  a  man  dissiiading  you  from  attempting 
to  do  well,  on  the  ground  that  perfection  is  "  Utopian,"  beware 
ot  that  man.  Cast  the  word  out  of  your  dictionary  altogether. 

JOHN  RUSKIN 
(Lectures  on  Architecture  and  Painting). 

TWO    angels   guide 

The  path  of  man,  both  aged  and  yet  young, 
As  angels  are,  ripening  through  endless  years. 
On  one  he  leans  :  some  call  her  Memory, 
And  some  Tradition  ;  and  her  voice  is  sweet, 
With  deep  mysterious  accord  :  the  other, 
Floating   above,    holds   down   a  lamp   which   streams 
A  light  divine  and  searching  on  the  earth, 
Compelling  eyes  and  footsteps.     Memory  yields, 
Yet  clings  with  loving  check,  and  shines  anew 
Reflecting  all  the  rays  of  that  bright  lamp 
Our  angel  Reason  holds.     We  had  not  walked 
But  for  Tradition  ;  we  walk  evermore 
To  higher  paths,  by  brightening  Reason's  lamp. 

GEORGE  ELIOT 

(Spanish  Gypsy). 

COI/ERIDGE,  I  have  not  one  truly  elevated  character  among 
my  acquaintance  :  not  one  Christian  :  not  one  but  undervalues 
Christianity — singly,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  Wesley  (have  you  read 
his  life  ? )  was  he  not  an  elevated  character  ?  Wesley  has  said 
"  Religion  is  not  a  solitary  thing."  Alas  !  it  necessarily  is  so 
with  me,  or  next  to  solitary. 

CHARI«ES  LAMB  (1775-1834) 
(Letter  to  S.  T.  Coleridge,  Jan.  10,  1797). 


i6o  KEATS  AND  OTHERS 

Poor  lovable  Charles  Lamb  !  When  he  wrote  this  he  was  only  twenty- 
one  years  of  age,  he  had  already  been  himself  confined  in  an  asylum,  and 
now  his  sister  in  a  moment  of  madness  had  killed  her  mother.  When  after- 
wards he  was  allowed  to  take  care  of  Mary,  he  had  still  to  take  her  back  to  the 
asylum  from  time  to  time,  as  a  fresh  attack  of  mania  began  to  manifest 
itself.  The  picture  of  the  weeping  brother  and  sister  on  their  way  to  the 
asylum  is  dreadfully  sad.  The  passage  seems  interesting  because  of  Lamb's 
reference  to  Wesley. 

BL/ISSFULI/Y  haven'd  both  from  joy  and  pain  : 
Blinded  alike  from  sunshine  and  from  rain  : 
As  though  a  rose  should  shut  and  be  a  bud  again. 

KEATS 
(The  Eve  of  St.  Agnes). 

Madeline  is  lying  asleep  in  bed — but  the  last  line  could  be  used  in  quite 
another  sense  as  prettily  expressing  rejuvenation. 


BENEATH  the  moonlight  and  the  snow 

Lies  dead  my  latest  year  ; 
The  winter  winds  are  wailing  low 

Its  dirges  in  my  ear. 

I  grieve  not  with  the  moaning  wind 
As  if  a  loss  befell ; 

Before  me,  even  as  behind, 
God  is,  and  all  is  well ! 

J.  G.  WHITHER 
(My  Birthday). 

IF  on  my  theme  I  rightly  think, 
There  are  five  reasons  why  men  drink  : — 
Good  wine  ;   a  friend  ;  or  being  dry  ; 
Or  lest  we  should  be  by  and  by  ; 
Or — any  other  reason  why. 

HENRY  AI.DRICH  (1647-1710). 

Autres  temps,  autres  moeurs^ !      Aldrich  was  Dean  of  Christ  Church, 
Oxford,  when  he  wrote  these  lines. 

INSCRIPTION  FOR  A  BUST  OF  CUPID 

QUI  que  tu  sois,  voici  ton  maitre ; 

II  1'est,  le  fut,  ou  le  doit  etre. 

(Whatso'er  thou  art,  thy  master  see  I 
He  was,  or  is,  or  is  to  be.) 

VOLTAIRE. 


ROSSETTI  AND  OTHERS  i6r 

UP-HII,L 

DOES  the  road  wind  up-hill  all  the  way  ? 

Yes,  to  the  very  end. 
Will  the  day's  journey  take  the  whole  long  day  ? 

From  morn  to  night,  my  friend. 

But  is  there  for  the  night  a  resting-place  ? 

A  roof  for  when  the  slow  dark  hours  begin. 
May  not  the  darkness  hide  it  from  my  face  ? 

You  cannot  miss  that  inn. 

Shall  I  meet  other  wayfarers  at  night  ? 

Those  who  have  gone  before. 
Then  must  I  knock,  or  call  when  just  in  sight  ? 

They  will  not  keep  you  standing  at  that  door. 

Shall  I  find  comfort,  travel-sore  and  weak  ? 

Of  labour  you  shall  find  the  sum* 
Will  there  be  beds  for  me  and  all  who  seek  ? 

Yea,  beds  for  all  who  come. 

CHRISTINA  ROSSETTI. 


A  PEBBLE  in  the  streamlet  scant 
Has  turned  the  course  of  many  a  river, 

A  dewdrop  in  the  baby  plant 
Has  warped  the  giant  oak  for  ever. 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACED. 


BUT  now  he  walks  the  streets, 
And  he  looks  at  all  he  meets 

Sad   and   wan, 

And  he  shakes  his  feeble  head, 
That  it  seems  as  if  he  said, 

"  They  are  gone." 

The  mossy  marbles  rest 
On  the  Hps  that  he  has  prest 

In  their  bloom, 

And  the  names  he  loved  to  hear 
Have  been  carved  for  many  a  year 

On  the  tomb. 

The  "Summit,"  completion  or  end. 

11 


162  HOLMES  AND  OTHERS 

My  grandmamma  has  said — 
Poor  old  lady,  she  is  dead 

Long   ago,— 

That  he  had  a  Roman  nose, 
And  his  cheek  was  like  a  rose 

In  the  snow. 

But  now  his  nose  is  thin. 
And  it  rests  upon  his  chin 

Like   a  staff. 

And  a  crook  is  in  his  back, 
And  a  melancholy  crack 
In  his  laugh.  .  .     . 

().  W.  HOLMES 

(The  Last  Lea/} 


"  BEAUTY  is  truth,  truth  beauty,"— that  is  all 
Ye  know  on  earth,  and  all  ye  need  to  know  ! 

JOHN  KEATS 
(Ode  on  a  Grecian   Urn). 

Matthew  Arnold  says  of  this  :  "  No,  it  is  not  all ;  but  it  is  true,  deeply 

true,  and  we  have  deep  need  to  know  it To  see  things  in  their 

beauty  is  to  see   things  in   their  truth,  and   Keats  knew  it.     '  What  the 
Imagination  seizes  on  as  Beauty  must  be  Truth,'  he  says  in  prose." 


WERE  it  not  sadder,  in  the  years  to  come, 
To  feel  the  hand-clasp  slacken  for  long  use, 
The  untuned  heart-strings  for  long  stress  refuse 

To  yield  old  harmonies,  the  songs  grow  dumb 
For  weariness,  and  all  the  old  spells  lose 

The  first  enchantment  ?     Yet  this  they  must  be  : 

Love  is  but  mortal,  save  in  memory. 

JOHN  PAYNE 
(A  Farewell], 


AUX  coeurs  blesses — 1'ombre  et  le  silence. 

(For  the  wounded  heart — shade  and  silence.) 

BALZAC. 
(Le  Medecin  de  Campagne). 


KNIGHT- -PAYNE  163 

THE  huge  mass  of  black  crags  that  towered  at  the  head  of  the 
gloomy  defile  was  exactly  what  one  would  picture  as  the  enchanted 
castle  of  the  evil  magician,  within  sight  of  which  all  vegetation 
withered,  looking  from  over  the  desolate  valley  of  ruins  to  the 
barren  shore  strewed  with  its  sad  wreckage,  and  the  wild  ocean 
beyond 

The  land-crabs  certainly  looked  their  part  of  goblin  guardians 
of  the  approaches  to  the  wicked  magician's  fastness.  They  were 
fearful  as  the  firelight  fell  on  their  yellow  cynical  faces,  fixed 
as  that  of  the  sphinx,  but  fixed  in  a  horrid  grin.  Those  who  have 
observed  this  foulest  species  of  crab  will  know  my  meaning. 
Smelling  the  fish  we  were  cooking  they  came  down  the  mountains 
in  thousands  upon  us.  We  threw  them  lumps  of  fish,  which  they 
devoured  with  crab-like  slowness,  yet  perseverance. 

It  is  a  ghastly  sight,  a  land-crab  at  his  dinner.  A  huge  beast 
was  standing  a  yard  from  me  ;  I  gave  him  a  portion  of  fish,  and 
watched  him.  He  looked  at  me  straight  in  the  face  with  his 
outstarting  eyes,  and  proceeded  with  his  two  front  claws  to  tear 
up  his  food,  bringing  bits  of  it  to  his  mouth  with  one  claw,  as  with 
a  fork.  But  all  this  while  he  never  looked  at  what  he  was  doing ; 
his  face  was  fixed  in  one  position,  staring  at  me.  And  when 
I  looked  around,  lo  !  there  were  half  a  dozen  others  all  steadily 
feeding,  but  with  immovable  heads  turned  to  me  with  that  fixed 
basilisk  stare.  It  was  indeed  horrible,  and  the  effect  was  night- 
marish in  the  extreme.  While  we  slept  that  night  they  attacked 
us,  and  would  certainly  have  devoured  us,  had  we  not  awoke  ; 
and  did  eat  holes  in  our  clothes.  One  of  us  had  to  keep  watch, 
so  as  to  drive  them  from  the  other  two,  otherwise  we  should  have 
had  no  sleep. 

Imagine  a  sailor  cast  alone  on  this  coast,  weary,  yet  unable  to 
sleep  a  moment  on  account  of  these  ferocious  creatures.  After  a 
few  days  of  an  existence  full  of  horror  he  would  die  raving  mad, 
and  then  be  consumed  in  an  hour  by  his  foes.  In  all  Dante's 
Inferno  there  is  no  more  horrible  a  suggestion  of  punishment 
than  this. 

E.  F.  KNIGHT 
(The  Cruise  of  the  "  Falcon  "). 

The  scene  is  in  the  Island  of  Trinidad,  off  the  coast  of  Brazil. 


....  NOR  the  end  of  love  is  sure, 
(Alas  !  how  much  less  sure  than  anything  ! ) 
Whether  the  little  love-light  shall  endure 
In  the  clear  eyes  of  her  we  loved  in  Spring. 


164  PAYNE  AND  OTHERS 

Or  if  the  faint  flowers  of  remembering 

Shall  blow,  we  know  not :  only  this  we  know, — 
Afar  Death  comes  with  silent  steps  and  slow. 

JOHN  PAYNE 
(SaJvesitra). 


THE  stars  of  midnight  shall  be  dear 

To  her ;  and  she  shall  lean  her  ear 

In  many  a  secret  place 

Where  rivulets  dance  their  wayward  round, 

And  beauty  born  of  murrmiring  sound 

Shall  pass  into  her  face. 

W.  WORDSWORTH 

(Three  Years  She  Creiv}. 


AS  the  art  of  life  is  learned,  it  will  be  found  at  last  that  all  lovely 
things  are  also  necessary :  the  wild  flower  by  the  wayside,  as  well 
as  the  tended  com  ;  and  the  wild  birds  and  creatures  of  the 
forest,  as  well  as  the  tended  cattle  :  because  man  doth  not  live  by 
bread  alone,  but  also  by  the  desert  manna ;  by  every  wondrous 
word  and  unknowable  work  of  God. 

JOHN  RUSKIX. 


AI/AS !  the  long  gray  years  have  vanquished  me, 

The  shadow  of  the  inexorable  days  ! 
I  am  grown  sad  and  silent :  for  the  sea 

Of  Time  has  swallowed  all  my  pleasant  ways. 
I  am  grown  weary  of  the  years  that  flee 
And  bring  no  light  to  set  my  bound  hope  free, 

No  sun  to  fill  the  promise  of  old  Mays. 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACKD. 


LOVE 

Get  egoisme  a  deux. 

DE  STAEI,. 


IRVING— JAMES  165 

IT  is  the  torment  of  one,  the  felicity  of  two,   the  strife  and 
enmity  of  three. 

WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


I  CONFESS  that  I  do  not  see  why  the  very  existence  of  an  in- 
visible world  may  not  in  part  depend  on  the  personal  response 
which  any  one  of  us  may  make  to  the  religious  appeal.  God  him- 
self, in  short,  may  draw  vital  strength  and  increase  of  very  being 
from  our  fidelity.  For  my  own  part,  I  do  not  know  what  the  sweat 
and  blood  and  tragedy  of  this  life  mean,  if  they  mean  anything 
short  of  this.  If  this  life  be  not  a  real  fight,  in  which  something 
is  eternally  gained  for  the  universe  by  success,  it  is  no  better 
than  a  game  of  private  theatricals  from  which  one  may  withdraw 
at  will.  But  it  feels  like  a  real  fight, — as  if  there  were  something 
really  wild  in  the  universe  which  we,  with  all  our  idealities  and 
f  aithf  ulnesses,  are  needed  to  redeem  ;  and  first  of  all  to  redeem  our 
own  hearts  from  atheisms  and  fears.  For  such  a  half -wild, 
half -saved  universe  our  nature  is  adapted.  The  deepest  thing  in 
our  nature  is  this  dumb  region  of  the  heart  in  which  we  dwell 
alone  with  our  willingnesses  and  tuiwillingnesses,  our  faiths 
and  fears.  ...  In  these  depths  of  personality  the  sources  of 
all  our  outer  deeds  and  decisions  take  their  rise.  Here  is  our 
deepest  organ  of  communication  with  the  nature  of  things ;  and 
compared  with  these  concrete  movements  of  our  soul  all  abstract 
statements  and  scientific  arguments — the  veto,  for  example, 
which  the  strict  positivist  pronounces  \\pon  our  faith — sound  to 
us  like  mere  chatterings  of  the  teeth. 

WIW.IAM  JAMES 
(Is  Life  Worth  Living?}. 

(Mr.  T.  R.  Glover  in  The  Jesus  of  History  points  put  that  when  Christ 
said  "  Ye  are  they  that  have  continued  with  me  in  my  temptations  " 
(Luke  xxii,  26),  He  meant  that  the  disciples  had  helped  Him  by  their 
fidelity.) 

The  following  is  from  Professor  Hobhouse's  Questions  of  War  and 
Peace,  repeating  what  he  had  set  out  at  length  in  his  Development  and 
Purpose  (I  take  the  quotation  from  The  Spectator  review,  as  the  book 
is  not  yet  procurable  in  Australia)  : 

"  I  think,  therefore,  that  we  must  go  back  into  ourselves  for  faith,  and 
away  from  ourselves  into  the  world  for  reason.  The  deeper  we  go  into  our- 
selves the  more  we  throw  off  forms  and  find  the  assurance  not  only  that  the 
great  things  exist,  but  that  they  are  the  heart  of  our  lives,  and,  since  after 
all  we  are  of  one  stock,  they  must  be  at  the  heart  of  your  lives  as  well  as  mine. 
You  say  there  are  bad  men  and  wars  and  cruelties  and  wrong,  I  say  all 


166  THOMSON  AND  OTHERS 

these  are  the  collision  of  undeveloped  forms.  What  is  the  German  suffering 
from  but  a  great  illusion  that  the  State  is  something  more  than  man,  and 
that  power  is  more  than  justice  ?  Strip  him  of  this  and  he  is  a  man  like  your- 
self, pouring  out  his  blood  for  the  cause  that  he  loves,  and  that  you  and  I 
detest.  Probe  inwards,  then,  and  you  find  the  same  spring  of  life  everywhere 
and  it  is  good.  Look  outwards,  and  you  find,  as  you  yourself  admit  the 
slow  movement  towards  a  harmony  which  just  means  that  these  impulses 
of  primeval  energy  come,  so  to  say,  to  understand  one  another.  Every 
form  they  take  as  they  grow  will  provoke  conflict,  perish,  and  be  cast  aside 
until  the  whole  unites,  and  there  you  have  the  secret  of  your  successive 
efforts  and  failures  which  yet  leave  something  behind  them.  God  is  not  the 
creator  who  made  the  world  in  six  days,  rested  on  the  seventh  and  saw 
that  it  was  good.  He  is  growing  in  the  actual  evolution  of  the  world." 


AND  since  (man)  cannot  spend  and  use  aright 

The  little  time  here  given  him  in  trust, 
But  wasteth  it  in  weary  undelight 

Of  foolish  toil  and  trouble,  strife  and  lust. 
He  naturally  claimeth  to  inherit 
The  everlasting  Future,  that  his  merit 

May  have  full  scope  ;  as  surely  is  most  just. 

JAMBS  THOMSON 
(The  City  of  Dreadful  Night.) 


THE  moving  waters  at  their  priest-like  task 
Of  pure  ablution  round  earth's  human  shores. 

JOHN  KEATS 
(His  Last  Sonnet,    1820). 


WITH  sweet  May  dews  my  wings  were  wet, 

And  Phoebus  fired  my  vocal  rage  : 
Love  caught  me  in  his  silken  net, 

And  shut  me  in  his  golden  cage. 

He  loves  to  sit  and  hear  me  sing. 

Then,  laughing,  sports  and  plays  with  me  ; 
Then  stretches  out  my  golden  wing, 
And  mocks  mv  loss  of  liberty. 

W.    P,I,AKE 

(Song). 

This  poem  was  written  before  Blake  was  Jonrtcen  years  of  age 


vSHAKESPEARK  AND  OTHERS  167 

WHEN  the  fight  was  done, 
When  I  was  dry  with  rage  and  extreme  toil, 
Breathless  and  faint,  leaning  upon  ray  sword, 
Came  there  a  certain  lord,  neat,  trimly  dressed, 

Fresh  as  a  bridegroom 

He  was  perfumed  like  a  milliner  ; 

And  'twixt  his  finger  and  his  thumb  he  held 

A  pouncet-box.     And  still  he  smiled  and  talked ; 

And  as  the  soldiers  bore  dead  bodies  by, 

He  called  them  untaught  knaves,  unmannerly, 

To  bring  a  slovenly  unhandsome  corse 

Betwixt  the  wind  and  his  nobility. 

SHAKESPEARE 

(i  Henry  IV..  1.3). 


.  .  .  HIGH-KILTED    perhaps,    as  once  at  Dundee  I  saw 

them, 
Petticoats    up     to   the     knees,     or     even,    it    might    be, 

above  them 
Matching    their    lily-white    legs    with    the     clothes    that 

they  trod  in  the  wash-tub ! 


...  IN  a  blue  cotton  print  tucked  up  over  striped  lin- 
sey-woolsey, 
Barefoot,     barelegged    he    beheld     her,    with    anus    bare 

up  to  the  elbows, 

Bending    with    fork    in    her    hand    in    a   garden   uproot- 
ing potatoes  ! 

A.  H.  Ci.OUGir 
(The   Bothie   of   Tober-na  Vuolich). 


AS  I  came  through  the  desert  thus  it  was, 
As  I  came  through  the  desert :  Eyes  of  fire 
Glared  at  me  throbbing  with  a  starved  desire  ; 
The   hoarse   and    heavy    and    carnivorous   breath 
Was  hot  upon  me  from  deep  jaws  of  death  ; 
Sharp  claws,  swift  talons,  fleshless  fingers  cold 
Plucked  at  me  from  the  bushes,  tried  to  hold  : 

But  I  strode  on  austere  ; 

No  hope  could  have  no  fear. 

JAMES  THOMSON 
(The  City  of  Dreadful  Itight). 

The  five  quotations  above  are  from  a  series  of  word-pictures  (seepp.  85). 


168  WILLIAMSON 

SHE  COMES  AS  COMES  THE  SUMMER  NIGHT 

SHE  comes  as  comes  the  summer  night, 

Violet,  perfumed,  clad  with  stars, 
To  heal  the  eyes  hurt  by  the  light 

Flung  by  Day's  brandish'd  scimitars. 
The  parted  crimson  of  her  lips 

Like  sunset  clouds  that  slowly  die 
When  twilight  with  cool  finger-tips 

Unbraids  her  tresses  in  the  sky. 

The  melody  of  waterfalls 

Is  in  the  music  of  her  tongue, 
Low  chanted  in  dim  forest  halls 

Ere  Dawn's  loud  bugle-call  has  rung. 
And  as  a  bird  with  hovering  wings 

Halts  o'er  her  young  one  in  the  nest, 
Then  droops  to  still  his  flutterings, 

She  takes  me  to  her  fragrant  breast. 

O  star  and  bird  at  once  thou  art, 

And  Night,  with  purple-petall'd  charm, 
Shining  and  singing  to  my  heart, 

And  soothing  with  a  dewy  calm. 
Let  Death  assume  this  lovely  guise, 

So  darkly  beautiful  and  sweet, 
And,  gazing  with  those  starry  eyes, 

Lead  far  away  my  weary  feet. 

And  that  strange  sense  of  valleys  fair 

With  birds  and  rivers  making  song 
To  lull  the  blossoms  gleaming  there, 

Be  with  me  as  I  pass  along. 
Ah  !  lovely  sisters,  Night  and  Death, 

And  lovelier  Woman — wondrous  three, 
"  Givers  of  Life,"  my  spirit  saith, 

Unfolders  of  the  mystery. 

Ah  !  only  Love  could  teach  me  this, 

In  mentioned  springtime  long  since  flown ; 
Red  lips  that  trembled  to  my  kiss, 

That  sighed  farewell.,  and  left  me  lone. 
O  Joy  and  Sorrow  intertwined, — 

A  kiss,  a  sigh,  and  blinding  tears, — 
Yet  ever  after  in  the  wind, 

The  bird-like  music  of  the  spheres  ! 

FRANK  S.  WIW.IAMSON. 

This  is  from  the  author's  "  Purple  and  Gold,"  a  book  of  poems  pub- 
lished in  Melbourne  (Thomas  C.  Lothian,  publisher). 


MACDONALD- BROWN  169 

NO  indulgence  of  passion  destroys  the  spiritual  nature  so  much 
3  respectable  selfishness. 

G.    MACDONA£D 

(Robert  Falconer). 


WHEN  LOVE  MEETS  LOVE 


WHEN  love  meets  love,  breast  urged  to  breast, 

God  interposes, 
An   unacknowledged   guest, 

And  leaves  a  little  child  among  our  roses. 

O,   gentle  hap  ! 

O,    sacred   lap ! 

O,  brooding  dove  ! 

But  when  he  grows 

Himself  to  be  a  rose, 

God  takes  him — Where  is  then  our  love  ? 

O,  where  is  all  our  love  ? 


BETWEEN  OUR  FOLDING  LIPS 


BETWEEN  our  folding  lips 

God  slips 

An  embryon  life,  and  goes ; 

And  this  becomes  your  rose. 

We  love,  God  makes  :  in  our  sweet  mirth 

God  spies  occasion  for  a  birth. 

Then  is  it  His,  or  is  it  ours  ? 

I  know  not — He  is  fond  of  flowers. 

T.  E.  BROWN. 


Compare  the  well-known  lines  by  George  MacDonald  : 

Where  did  you  come  from,  baby  dear  ? 
Out  of  the  everywhere  into  here.  .  .  . 

How  did  they  all*  just  come  to  be  you  ? 
God  thought  about  me,  and  so  I  grew. 

The  eyes,  smile,  etc.,  referred  to  in  the  intermediate  verses. 


i/o  ELIOT  AND  OTHER S 

The  suggestion  that  we  are  the  result  of  God's  thought  appears  else- 
where in  MacDonald,  as  in  Robert  Falconer : 

If  God  were  thinking  me — ah  !     But  if  He  be  only  dreaming 
me,  I  shall  go  mad. 

And  in  The  Marquis  of  Losste. 

I  want  to  help  you  to  grow  as  beautiful  as  God  meant  you  to  be 
when  He  thought  of  you  first. 


^      SOME   tilings  are  of   that  Nature  as  to  make  One's  fancy 
l\  checkle,  while  his  Heart  doth  ake.      | 

JOHN   BUN  VAN. 


\ 


Checkle  =  chuckle. 


MY  days  are  in  the  yellow  leaf  ; 

The  flowers  and  fruits  of  love  are  gone  ; 
The  worm,  the  canker,  and  the  grief 
Are  mine  alone  ! 

LORD  BYRON 
(On  my  Thirty-sixth    Year}. 


'TIS  a  very  good  world  to  live  in, 
To  spend,  and  to  lend,  and  to  give  in  ; 
But  to  beg,  or  to  borrow,  or  ask  for  our  own 
'Tis  the  very  worst  world  that  ever  was  known. 

J.  BROMFIE^D. 

Often  ascribed   to   the  Earl  of  Rochester.     See  Notes  and  Queries 
July  18,  1896. 


DEAD  years  have  yet  the  fire  01  life 

In  Memory's  holy  urn  ; 
Her  altars,  heaped  with  frankincense 

Of  bygone  summers,  burn  ; 
And,  when  in  everlasting  night 

We  see  yon  sun  decline, 
Deep  in  the  soul  his  purple  flames 

Eternally  will  shine. 

ALBERT  JOSEPH  EDMUNDS  (b.  1857) 
(The  Living  Past). 


EDMUNDS  171 

Mr.  Edmunds,  when  this  was  written  in  1880,  was  a  young  English 
poet  and  spiritualist,  but  has  since  settled  in  Philadelphia.  He  has  written 
a  number  of  works,  the  principal  being  Buddhist  and  Christian  Gospels 
now  First  Compared  from  the  Originals. 

In  1883  he  was  cataloguing  a  library  at  Sunderland,  and  came  across 
books  on  the  Alps,  etc.,  by  a  Rev.  Leslie  Stephen.  He  wrote  to  the  pub- 
lishers to  find  out  if  they  were  by  the  same  writer  as  the  Leslie  Stephen 
who  had  written  on  Ethics.  Sir  (then  Mr.)  Leslie  Stephen  had  just  been 
appointed  Clark  Lecturer  at  Cambridge.  He  replied  to  Edmunds,  "  I  am 
one  person,"  adding  that  he  had  given  up  holy  orders.  Edmunds  replied  : 

To  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen,  Sir, 

Confound  your  personality ; 
I  did,  and  now  must  here,  aver 

Belief  was  not  reality. 

I  hope  my  slip  may  be  excused, 

And  doom  this  time  decided  not, 
For,  though  the  persons  I  confused, 

Your  substance  I  divided  not. 

Now  thanks  to  you,  my  mind's  relieved 

From  mystified  plurality, 
For,  in  your  courteous  note  received, 

You've  unified  duality. 

Your  Alpine  thoughts  will  elevate 

Old  Cantab' s  flat  vicinity, 
And  give  her  church  another  state 

By  unifying  Trinity  \ 

You've  left,  you  say,  the  fold  of  strife, 
Where  desperate  charges  never  end ; 

Not  handsome  living^  handsome  life 
Henceforth  will  make  you  reverend. 

I'm  Edmunds,  Millfield,  Sutherland, 

Where  souls  in  sulphur  barter,  sir ; 
But,  please  excuse  an  ending  grand— 

My  name  to  rhyme's  a  Tartar,  sir. 

SPIRITUAL-ISM 

ONLY  a  rising  billow, 

Only  a  deep  sigh  drawn 
By  the  great  sea  of  chaos 

Before  Creation's  dawn. 

Only  a  little  princess 

Spelling  the  words  of  kings  ; 

Only   the   Godhead's   prattle 
In  Sinai  mutterings  ! 


1 72  EDMUNDS  AND  OTHERS 

The  crowd  mistakes  and  fears  it, 

And  Aaron  has  ignored, 
But  Moses,  far  above  them, 

Is  talking  with  the  Lord  ! 

ALBERT  JOSEPH  KDMUXDS. 

See  note  to  previous  quotation.     This  poem  was  written  in  1883. 

Although  I  preserved  these  verses,  I  may  add  that  I  had  no  interest 
whatever  in  spiritualism,  permeated  as  it  was  with  childishness  and  fraud. 
But,  nevertheless,  it  (together  with  the  so-called  "  Theosophy  ")  led  to  the 
happy  result  that  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research  was  founded  in  1882. 
Although  spiritualism  did  good  in  this  way,  its  unhappy  associations  do 
harm  to  the  Society  and  hamper  it  in  the  important  work  it  has  carried 
on  during  the  last  thirty-eight  years.  Popular  prejudice  continues  to 
associate  it  witfrthe  old  spiritualism,  and  in  consequence  no  proper  attention 
is  paid  to  its  intensely  interesting  and  most  valuable  investigations.  For 
example,  there  are,  apart  from  Public  Libraries  and  Universities,  only 
six  members  or  associates  in  the  whole  of  Australia  !  And  yet,  beside? 
important  work  in  other  directions,  it  must  be  admitted  by  any  open- 
minded  person  that  the  evidence  collected  by  the  Society  that  the  dead 
(by  telepathy  or  otherwise)  communicate  with  the  living  is  unanswerable. 


HE  had  catched  a  great  cold,  had  he  had  no  other  clothes  to 
wear  than  the  skin  of  a  bear  not  yet  killed. 

THOMAS  FUU,ER. 

This  refers  to  the  French  proverb,  "  //  nt  fautpas  venire  la  pcau  de 
V ours  <want  de  T avoir  tue,"  or,  as  we  say,  "Do  not  count  your  chickens 
before  they  are  hatched." 


HABIT  dulls  the  senses  and  puts  the  critical  faculty  to  sleep. 
The  fierceness  and  hardness  of  ancient  manners  is  apparent 
to  us,  but  the  ancients  themselves  were  not  shocked  by  sights 
which  were  familiar  to  them.  To  us  it  is  sickening  to  think 
of  the  gladiatorial  show,  of  the  massacres  common  in  Roman 
warfare,  of  the  infanticide  practised  by  grave  and  respectable 
citizens,  who  did  not  merely  condemn  their  children  to  death, 
but  often  in  practice,  as  they  well  knew,  to  what  was  still  worse 
— a  life  of  prostitution  and  beggary.  The  Roman  regarded  a 
gladiatorial  show  as  we  regard  a  hunt ;  the  news  ot  the  slaughter 
of  two  hundred  thousand  Helvetians  by  Caesar  or  half  a  million 
Jews  by  Titus  excited  in  his  mind  a  thrill  of  triumph  ;  infanticide 
committed  by  a  friend  appeared  to  him  a  prudent  measure  of 
household  economy. 

SIR  J.  R.  SEP;LEY 
(Ecce  Homo). 


173 

It  is  still  more  important  to  realize  that  the  exposure  of  children  was 
a  recognized  practice  also  among  the  Greeks,  and  that  no  one,  not  even 
Plato,  their  noblest  philosopher,  saw  anything  wrong  in  it.  It  is  only 
by  letting  the  mind  dwell  on  such  facts  as  these,  until  their  significance 
is  fully  appreciated,  that  we  can  realize  the  width  and  depth  of  the  great 
gulf  that  separates  the  Pagan  and  the  Christian,  the  ancient  and  the  modern 
world.  Take  this  one  fact  only  :  imagine  the  Greek  father  looking  at  his 
helpless  babe  and  coldly  deciding  that  to  rear  it  will  be  inconvenient,* 
or  that  there  are  already  enough  children  to  divide  the  inheritance,  or 
that  the  child  is  sickly  or  deformed,  or  that  its  person  offends  his  idea  of 
beauty — and  then  consigning  his  own  offspring  to  slavery,  prostitution, 
or  death  !  (The  child  would  either  die  or  be  picked  up  to  be  reared  for 
some  such  purpose.)  Even  in  the  very  imperfect  state  of  our  own  civiliza- 
tion, we  at  least  have  children's  hospitals  and  creches,  and  are  inflamed 
with  righteous  rage  when  even  an  unknown  baby  is  ill-treated.  (We, 
indeed,  go  further,  and  have  laws  and  societies  for  prevention  of  cruelty 
to  animals.} 

The  consideration  of  such  a  fact  leads  us  also  to  inquire  as  to  the 
relations  of  husband  and  wife,  seeing  that  the  woman  would  have  at  least 
the  affection  for  her  offspring  that  is  common  among  the  lower  animals. 
We  then  find  that  the  modern  chivalrous  idea  of  womanhood  was  unknown 
to  the  Greeks  ;  the  wife  was  not  educated,  and  was  considered  an  inferior 
being  ;  she  was  married  mainly  in  order  to  provide  sons  to  carry  out  certain 
ritual  observances  necessary  for  the  father's  welfare  after  death  ;  she 
was  kept  in  an  almost  Eastern  seclusion  (and  therefore  had  to  improve 
her  pallid  complexion  by  paint)  ;  she  would  associate  mainly  with  the 
children  and  slaves.  We  also  find  that  fidelity  of  the  husband  to  the  wife 
was  neither  required  nor  esteemed  ;  and  that  there  was  little  marital  love 
or  family  life.  (Plato  in  his  model  Republic  would  abolish  both  the  latter, 
for  there  was  to  be  promiscuity  of  women,  and  all  children  were  to  be  brought 
up  by  the  State.) 

Considering  further  this  practice  of  exposing  children,  we  realize 
that  it  indicates  the  want  of  pity  for  the  helpless  and  suffering,  which  is 
seen  among  the  lower  animals  (but  with  exceptions  even  among  them). 
From  this  we  may  reasonably  infer  that  the  Greeks  would  show  little 
humanity  in  treating  other  helpless  or  suffering  people,  the  sick  or  distressed, 
dependents  or  slaves,  conquered  enemies  or  others  in  their  power.  (In 
this  respect,  however,  they,  as  an  intellectual  people,  would  subject  them- 
selves to  and  be  controlled  by  necessary  social  laws  and  practical  considera- 
tions ;  and  also,  as  a  fact,  they  at  times  showed  generosity  to  a  valiant 
foe.)  Again  we  can  infer  that,  where  even  the  spirit  of  mercy  was  so 
wanting,  the  gospel  of  love  could  not  possibly  exist,  and  that  the  Greeks 
lived  on  a  far  lower  moral  plane  than  ours.  These  questions  are  far  too 
large  to  discuss  in  this  book,  and  I  must  leave  them  to  be  dealt  with  else- 
where. 

But,  even  from  this  very  small  portion  of  the  available  evidence,  we 
can  arrive  at  three  resulting  facts  :  First,  that  when  in  translations  from 
the  Greek  we  find  such  words  as  "  kindness,"  "  love,"  "  morality,"  "  purity," 

•  No  doubt  one  reason  would  be  that  given  by  the  Australian  black  woman  lor 
leaving  her  baby  in  the  bush,  "  him  too  much  cry."  The  Greeks  had  numerous  slaves, 
and  were  fond  of  comfort ;  and  their  houses  were,  of  course,  small  and  cramped  compared 
with  our  own. 


174  PROWSE 

"  virtue,"  "  religion,"  ttc.,  they  have  for  us  a  far  larger  and  higher  content 
than  the  Greek  words  in  the  original ;  secondly,  that  therefore,  the  reader 
must  get  incorrect  impressions  of  Greek  literature  and  thought ;  and, 
thirdly,  that  truly  marvellous  as  the  Greeks  were  in  art  and  literature,  the 
current  conception  of  them  as  a  noble-minded  and  refined  people  is  erroneous. 


Kina-neariea,  oiners  wouia  nave  anecuon  lor  ineir  wives,  ana  so  on.  r»ui  t 
only  be  assumption,  for  there  is  little  in  their  literature  to  support  it.  This  will 
if  the  evidence  adduced  by  Mr.  Livingstone  ("  The  Greek  Genius,"  pp.  117-122) 
fully  and  critically  examined.  (His  references  to  Homer,  who  lived  in  a  far  dist 


In  referring  to  the  Greeks,  one  needs  to  limit  the  people  and  period,  and  I  am  referring 
to  the  great  age  of  the  Attic  or  Athenian  Greeks,  say  the  Fifth  Century,  B.C.  There 
would,  of  course,  be  gradations  of  character  among  them,  and,  no  doubt,  some  would  be 
kind-hearted,  others  would  have  affection  for  their  wives,  and  so  on._  But  this  can 

"  "  i  will  be  seen 
z)  is  care- 
stant  age 

must  be  omitted.)  Also  the  fact  that  Herodotus,  in  the  course  of  his  narrative,  tells  us 
that  some  men  of  another  state  had  a  moment  of  compassion  for  a  baby  whom  they  were 
about  to  slay,  does  not  prove  in  the  slightest  degree  that  he  was  himself  humane.  The 
wording  of  Mr.  Livingstone's  translation,  p.  118,  "  It  happened  by  a  divine  chance  that 
the  baby  smiled,  etc.,"  would  appear  to  confirm  this  view  of  his  ;  but  the  Greek  words 
simply  mean  that  a  god  by  chance  intervened.  Knowing  what  we  do  of  the  Greek  gods, 
that  intervention  would  certainly  not  be  actuated  by  any  kindly  feeling  towards  the 
infant — the  object  presumably  was  that  the  child  should  live  to  fulfil  the  destiny  pro- 
phesied by  the  Delphic  Oracle.  (Herodotus  was  a  typical  Greek  to  whom  the  world  was 
peopled  with  gods,  and  he  sees  them  constantly  interposing  in  human  affairs.)  As  regards 
the  exposure  of  children,  the  point  is  that  it  was  a  recognized  and  common  practice,  duly 
sanctioned  by  law,  and  never  condemned  by  any  writer.  Indeed  Plato  and  Aristotle  definitely 
approve  of  it,  and  in  Plato's  Ideal  Republic  the  weakly  and  deformed  children  were  to 
be  killed  by  the  State 

As  regards  the  current  conception  of  the  Greeks,  Shelley  in  his  Preface  to  Hellas  ' 
describes  them  as  "  those  glorious  beings  whom  the  imagination  almost  refuses  to  figure 
to  itself  as  belonging  to  our  kind."  Similar  statements  could  be  gathered  from  inmimer- 
*ble  English  and  European  writers. 


THE  PACE  THAT  KILLS 

THE  gallop  of  life  was  once  exciting, 

Madly  we  dashed  over  pleasant  plains, 
And  the  joy,  like  the  joy  of  a  brave  man  fighting, 

Poured  in  a  flood  through  our  eager  veins, 
Hot  youth  is  the  time  for  the  splendid  ardour. 

That  stamps  and  startles,  that  throbs  and  thrills 
And  ever  we  pressed  our  horses  harder, 

Galloping  on  at  the  pace  that  kills  ! 

So  rapid  the  pace,  so  keen  the  pleasure, 

Scarcely  we  paused  to  glance  aside, 
As  we  mocked  the  dullards,  who  watched  at  leisure 

The  frantic  race  that  we  chose  to  ride. 
Yes,  youth  is  the  time  when  a  master-passion, 

Or  love  or  ambition,  our  nature  fills  ; 
And  each  of  us  rode  in  a  different  fashion — 

All  of  us  rode  at  the  pace  that  kills  ! 


PROWSE— PlyUTARCH  1 7  5 

And  vainly,  O  friends,  ye  strive  to  bind  us  ; 

Flippantly,  gaily,  we  answer  you  : — 
"  Should  atra  cura*  jump  up  behind  us, 

Strong  are  our  steeds  and  can  carry  two  !  " 
But  we  find  the  road,  so  smooth  at  morning, 

Rugged  at  night  'mid  the  lonely  hills  ; 
And  all  too  late  we  recall  the  warning 

Weary  at  last  of  the  pace  that  kills 

The  gallop  of  life  was  just  beginning  ; 

Strength  we  wasted  in  efforts  vain  ; 
And  now,  when  the  prizes  are  worth  the  winning, 

We've  scarcely  the  spirit  to  ride  again  ! 
The  spirit,  forsooth  !  'Tis  our  strength  has  failed  us, 

And  sadly  we  ask,  as  we  count  our  ills, 
"  What  pitiful,  pestilent  folly  ailed  us  ? 

Why  did  we  ride  at  the  pace  that  kills  ?  " 

W.  J.  PROWSK. 


CATO  said  '  he  had  rather  people  should  inquire  why  he  had  not 
a  statue  erected  to  his  memory,  than  why  he  had.' 

PLUTARCH 

(Political  Precepts). 


CHAMOUNI  AND  RYDAL. 

I  STOOD  one  shining  morning,  where 
The  last  pines  stand  on  Montanvert, 
G  a/.ing  on  giant  spires  that  grow 
From  the  great  frozen  gulfs  below. 

How  sheer  they  soared,  how  pieicing  rose 
Above  the  mists,  beyond  the  snows  ! 
No  thinnest  veil  of  vapour  hid 
Each  sharp  and  airy  pyramid. 

No  breeze  moaned  there,  nor  cooing  bird, 
Deep  down  the  torrent  raved,  unheard, 
Only  the  cow-bells'  clang,  subdued, 
Shook  in  the  fields  below  the  wood. 

Black  care,  Horace,  Od.  3,  i,  40. 


1 76  TRUMAN 

The  vision  vast,  the  lone  large  sky, 
The  kingly  charm  of  mountains  high, 
The  boundless  silence,  woke  in  me 
Abstraction,  reverence,  reverie. 

Days  dawned  that  felt  as  wide  away 
As  the  far  peaks  of  silvery  grey, 
Life's  lost  ideal,  love's  last  pain 
In  those  full  moments  throbbed  again. 

And  a  much  differing  scene  was  born 
In  my  mind's  eye  on  that  blue  morn  ; 
No  splintered  snowy  summits  there 
Shot  arrowy  heights  in  crystal  air  : 

But  a  calm  sunset  slanted  still 
O'er  hoary  crag  and  heath -flushed  hill, 
And  at  their  foot,  by  birchen  brake 
Dimpled  and  smiled  an  English  lake. 

I  roamed  where  I  had  roamed  before 

With  heart  elate  in  years  of  yore, 

Through  the  green  glens  by  Rotha  side, 

Which  Arnold  loved,  where  Wordsworth  died. 

That  flower  of  heaven,  eve's  tender  star, 
Trembled  with  light  above  Nab  Scar  ; 
And  from  his  towering  throne  aloft 
Fairfield  poured  purple  shadows  soft. 

The  tapers  twinkled  through  the  trees 
From  Rydal's  bower-bound  cottages, 
And  gentle  was  the  river's  flow, 
Like  love's  own  quivering  whisper  low. 

One  held  my  arm  will  walk  no  more 
On  Loughrigg  steeps  by  Rydall  shore. 
And  a  sweet  voice  was  speaking  clear — 
Earth  had  no  other  sound  so  dear. 


Her  words  were,  as  we  passed  along, 
Of  noble  sons  of  truth  and  song — 
Of  Arnold  brave,  and  Wordsworth  pure. 
And  how  their  influences  endure. 


TRUMAN  177 

"  They  have  not  left  us — are  not  dead  " 
(The  earnest  voice  beside  me  said,) 
' '  For  teacher  strong  and  poet  sage 
Are  deeply  working  in  the  age. 

"  For  aught  we  know  they  now  may  brood 
O'er  this  enchanted  solitude. 
With  thought  and  feeling  more  intense 
Than  we  in  the  blind  life  of  sense."  .... 

Those  tones  are  hushed,  that  light  is  cold, 
And  we  (but  not  the  world)  grow  old  ; 
The  joy,  "  the  bloom  of  young  desire," 
The  zest,  the  force,  the  strenuous  fire, 

Enthusiasms  bright,   sublime, 
That  heaven-like  made  that  early  time  : — 
These  all  are  gone  :  must  faith  go  too  ? 
Is  truth  too  lovely  to  be  tnie  ? 

In  nature  dwells  no  kindling  soul  ? 
Moves  no  vast  life  throughout  the  whole  ? 
Are  riot  thought,  knowledge,  love's  sweet  might. 
Shadows  of  substance  infinite  ? 

Shall  rippling  river,  bow  of  rain, 
Blue  mountains,  and  the  bluer  main. 
Red  dawn,  gold  sundown,  pearly  star 
Be  fair,  nor  something  fairer  far  ? 

That  awful  hope,  so  deep,  that  swells 
At  the  keen  clash  of  Easter  bells 
Is  it  a  waning  moon,  that  dies 
As  morn-like  lights  of  science  rise  ? 

Bv  all  that  yearns  in  art  and  song, 

By  the  vague  dreams  that  make  men  strong, 

By  memory's  penance,  by  the  glow 

Of  lifted  mood  poetic, — No  ! 

No  !  by  the  stately  forms  that  stand 
I,ike  angels  in  yon  snowy  land  ; 
No  !  by  vthe  stars  that,  pure  and  pale, 
Look  down  each  night  on  Rydal-vale. 

J.  TRUMAN. 
12 


178  BACON  AND  OTHERS 

Wordsworth  lived  at  Rydal  Mount.  These  verses  were  published 
in  Macmdlan's,  1879. 

"  Nor  something  fairer  far."  In  Sir  F.  Younghusband's  Kashmir 
(1911)  there  is  another  suggestion,  supplementary  to  this:  "There  came 
upon  me  this  thought,  which  doubtless  has  occurred  to  many  another 
besides  myself — why  the  scene  should  so  influence  me  and  yet  make  no 
impression  on  the  men  about  me.  Here  were  men  with  far  keener  eyesight 

than  my  own,  and  around  me  were  animals  with  eyesight  keener  still 

Clearly  it  is  not  the  eye,  but  the  soul  that  sees.  But  then  comes  the  still 
furthe'r  reflection :  what  may  there  not  be  staring  me  straight  in  the  face 
which  I  am  as  blind  to  as  the  Kashmir  stags  are  to  the  beauties  amidst 
which  they  spend  their  entire  lives  ?  The  whole  panorama  may  be  vibrating 
with  beauties  man  has  not  yet  the  soul  to  see.  Some  already  living,  no 
doubt,  see  beauties  that  we  ordinary  men  cannot  appreciate.  It  is  only  a 
century  ago  that  mountains  were  looked  upon  as  hideous.  And  in  the  long 
centuries  to  come  may  we  not  develop  a  soul  for  beauties  unthought  of 
now  ?  Undoubtedly  we  must.  And  often  in  reverie  on  the  mountains 
I  have  tried  to  imagine  what  still  further  loveliness  they  may  yet  possess 
for  men." 

HE  that  dies  in  an  earnest  pursuit  is  like  one  that  is  wounded 
in  hot  blood,  who  for  the  time  scarce  feels  the  hurt ;  and  therefore 
a  mind,  fixed  and  bent  upon  somewhat  that  is  good,  doth  best 
avert  the  dolours  of  death. 

BACON. 


UNDERNEATH  this  stone  doth  lie 
As  much  beauty  as  could  die  ; 
Which  in  life  did  harbour  give 
To  more  virtue  than  doth  five. 

BEN  JONSON 
(Epigram   CXXIV). 

As  Dr.  Johnson  said  :  "  In  lapidary  inscriptions  a  man  is  not  upon 
oath." 


"  EN  Angleterre,"  said  a  cynical  Dutch  diplomatist,  "  numero 
deux  va  chez  numero  un,  pour  s'en  glorifier  aupres  de  numero 
trois." 

(In  England,  Number  Two  goes  to  Number  One's  house  in  order  to 
boast  about  it  to  Number  Three.) 

IvAURENCE    OWPHANT 

(Piccadilly). 


MACDONALD— LOCKE  179 


LORD  Jesus  Clirist,  I  know  not  how — 

With  this  blue  air,  blue  sea, 
This  yellow  sand,  that  grassy  brow, 

All  isolating  me — 

Thy  thoughts  to  mine  themselves  impart, 

My  thoughts  to  thine  draw  near  ; 
But  thou  canst  fill  who  mad'st  my  heart, 

Who  gav'st  me  words  must  hear. 

Thou  mad'st  the  hand  with  which  I  write, 

The  eye  that  watches  slow 
Through  rosy  gates  that  rosy  light 

Across  thy  threshold  go, 

Those  waves  that  bend  in  golden  spray, 

As  if  thy  foot  they  bore  : 
I  think  I  know  thee,  Lord,  to-day, 

Shall  know  thee  evermore. 

I  know  thy  father,  thine  and  mine  : 

Thou  the  great  fact  hast  bared  : 
Master,  the  mighty  words  are  thine — 

Such  I  had  never  dared  ! 

Lord,  thou  hast  much  to  make  me  yet—- 
Thy father's  infant  still  : 

Thy  mind,  Son,  in  my  bosom  set, 
That  I  may  grow  thy  will. 

My  soul  with  truth  clothe  all  about, 

And  I  shall  question  free : 
The  man  that  feareth,  Lord,  to  doubt, 
In  that  fear  doubteth  thee. 

G.  MACDONALD 
(The   Disciple). 


OUR  ideas,  like  the  children  of  our  youth,  often  die  before  us, 
and  our  minds  represent  to  us  those  tombs  to  which  we  are  fast 
approaching — where,  though  the  brass  and  marble  may  remain, 
the  inscriptions  are  effaced  by  time  and  the.  imagery  moulders 
away. 

JOHN  LOCKE  (1632-1704). 

What  makes  such  a  passage  attractive  is  its  use  of  poetic  imagery ; 
and  yet  Locke  had  no  regard  for  poetry.     See  next  quotation. 


i8o  LOCKE— C.  ROSSKTT1 

IF  these  may  be  any  reasons  against  children's  making  Latin 
themes  at  school,  I  have  much  more  to  say,  and  of  more  weight, 
against  their  making  verses — verses  of  any  sort.  For  if  he  has 
no  genius  to  Poetry,  'tis  the  most  unreasonable  thing  in  the  world 
to  torment  a  child  and  waste  his  time  about  that  which  can  never 
succeed  ;  and  if  he  have  a  poetic  vein,  'tis  to  me  the  strangest 
thing  in  the  world  that  the  father  should  desire  or  suffer  it  to  be 
cherished  or  improved.  Methinks  the  parents  should  labour 
to  have  it  stifled  and  suppressed  as  much  as  may  be  ;  and  I  know 
not  what  reason  a  father  can  have  to  wish  his  son  a  poet,  who 
does  not  desire  to  have  him  bid  defiance  to  all  other  callings  and 
business.  .  For  it  is  very  seldom  seen  that  any  one  discovers 
mines  of  gold  or  silver  in  Parnassus.  .  Poetry  and  Gaming 
usually  go  together.  .  .  If,  therefore,  3rou  would  not  have 
your  son  the  fiddle  to  every  jovial  company,  without  whom  the 
Sparks  could  not  relish  their  wine,  nor  know  how  to  pass  an 
afternoon  idly  ;  if  you  would  not  have  him  to  waste  his  time 
and  estate  to  divert  others,  and  contemn  the  dirty  acres  left 
him  by  his  ancestors,  I  do  not  think  you  will  very  much  care  he 
should  be  a  Poet. 

JOHN  LOCKE  (1632-1704) 
(Some  Thoughts  Concerning  Education,  1693). 

Locke  was  writing  during  the  dreary  Dryden  period,  when  poetry 
had  so  greatly  degenerated  since  the  brilliant  Elizabethan  epoch.  He 
himself  evidently  had  no  interest  in  poetry.  We  know  that  he  did  not 
appreciate  Milton  (whose  Paradise  Lost  appeared  in  1667,  when  Locke 
was  in  his  prime). 

Compare  with  the  above  quotation  p.  357. 


WEEPING,  we  hold  Him  fast,  who  wept 

For  us,  we  hold  Him  fast. 
And  will  not  let  Him  go,  except 

He  bless  us  first  or  last. 

CHRISTINA  ROSSETTI. 


INDWELLING. 

IF  thou  couldst  empty  all  thyself  of  self, 

Like  to  a  shell  dishabited, 

Then  might  He  find  thee  on  the  Ocean  shelf. 

And  say,  "  This  is  not  dead," 

And  fill  thee  with  Himself  instead  : 


BROWN  AND  OTHERS  181 

But  thou  art  all  replete  with  very  thou, 

And  hast  such  shrewd  activity, 

That,  when  He  comes,  He  says,  "  This  is  enow 

Unto  itself—  'Twere  better  let  it  be  : 

It  is  so  small  and  full,  there  is  no  room  for  Me." 

T.  E.  BROWN  (1830-1897). 


OH  !  ever  thus  from  childhood's  hour, 

I've  seen  my  fondest  hopes  decay  ; 
I  never  loved  a  tree  or  flower, 

But  'twas  the  first  to  fade  away. 
1  never  nursed  a  dear  gazelle 

To  glad  me  with  its  soft  black  eye, 
But  when  it  came  to  know  me  well, 

And  love  me,  it  was  sure  to  die  ! 

THOMAS  MOORE 

(Lalla  Rookh). 

As  in  other  cases  mentioned  in  the  Preface,  I  find  that  these  lines, 
so  familiar  in  my  day,  appear  to  be  unknown  to  younger  men. 


ON    BLACKSTONE'S    COMMENTARIES. 

IN  taking  leave  of  our  Author  (Sir  William  Blackstone)  I  finish 
gladly  with  this  pleasing  peroration  :  a  scrutinizing  judgment, 
perhaps,  would  not  be  altogether  satisfied  with  it ;  but  the  ear 
is  soothed  by  it,  and  the  heart  is  warmed. 

JEREMY  BENTHAM  (1748-1832) 
(A  Fragment  of  Government}. 

I  think  it  worth  while  quoting  from  my  notes  this  amusing  piece 
of  sarcasm  aimed  by  a  young  man  of  twenty-eight  at  the  most  renowned 
legal  writer  of  the  time.  A  Fragment  of  Government  (1776),  the  first  of 
Bentham's  works,  not  only  showed  the  utter  folly  of  Blackstone' s  praise 
of  the  English  constitution^  but  also  laid  the  foundation  of  political  science. 
(The  passage,  which  the  quotation  refers  to,  is  in  Sec.  2  of  the  Introduction 
to  the  Commentaries,  "  Thus  far  as  to  the  right  of  the  supreme  power  to 
make  law  ....  public  tranquillity.") 

Not  only  was  the  English  constitution  a  subject  of  eulogy  in  Bentham's 
day,  but  also  English  law,  then  in  a  most  barbarous  state,  was  alleged  to 
be  the  perfection  of  human  reason  !  Through  the  efforts  of  this  great 
and  original  thinker  many  dreadful  abuses  were  removed,  but  it  is  a  remark- 
able illustration  of  the  blind  strength  of  English  conservatism  that  his 


1 82  BROUGHAM— LEIGH 

wise  counsel  has  not  yet  been  followed  in  many  exceedingly  important 
directions. 

In   the   seventy-eighty   period,    with  which   this  book  mainly  deals 
there  was  a  strong  agitation  for  law  reform,  which  had  some  results. 


IT  was  the  boast  of  Augustus,  that  he  found  Rome  of  brick 
and  left  it  of  marble.  But  how  much  nobler  will  be  our  Sove- 
reign's boast  when  he  shall  have  it  to  say  that  he  found  law  dear, 
and  left  it  cheap  ;  found  it  a  sealed  book — left  it  a  living  letter  ; 
found  it  the  patrimony  of  the  rich — left  it  the  inheritance  of  the 
poor  ;  found  it  the  two-edged  sword  of  craft  and  oppression — left 
it  the  staff  of  honesty  and  the  shield  of  innocence  ! 

LORD  BROUGHAM  (1778-1868) 
(Speech  in  Parliament,    1828^. 

It  would  indeed  be  a  proud  boast— but  not  one  of  these  object*  has 
yet  been  achieved. 


WHEN  Lord  Ellenborough  was  trying  one  of  the  Government 
charges  against  Home  Tooke,  he  found  occasion  to  praise  the 
impartial  manner  in  which  justice  is  administered.  "  In  England, 
Mr.  Tooke,  the  law  is  open  to  all  men,  rich  or  poor."  "  Yes, 
my  lord,"  answered  the  prisoner,  "  and  so  is  the  London  Tavern." 

HENRY  S.  LEIGH 
(Jeux  d' Esprit). 

The  same  story  is  told  in  Rogers'  Table  Talk,  but  a  different  judge  is 
named.  (Probably  both  are  wrong,  but  it  is  immaterial.)  The  London 
Tavern  was  where  Home  Tooke's  Constitutional  Society  met,  and  must 
have  been  often  referred  to  during  the  trial ;  but  of  course  the  meaning 
simply  is  that  the  throne  of  justice  cannot  be  approached  with  an  empty 
purse. 


REVENONS  a  nos  moutons, 
(Let  us  return  to  ottr  sheep.) 
(La  Farce  de  Maistre  Pierre  Patelin,  Anon.    15  Cent.). 

In  the  farce,  a  cloth  merchant,  who  is  suing  his  shepherd  for  stolen 
sheep,  discovers  also  that  the  attorney  on  the  other  side  is  a  man  who  had 
robbed  him  of  some  cloth.  Dropping  the  charge  against  the  shepherd, 
he  begins  accusing  the  lawyer  of  his  offence  ;  and,  to  recall  him  to  the  point, 
the  judge  impatiently  interrupts  him  with  Sus  revenons  ti  nos  moutons, 
"  Come,  let  us  get  back  to  our  sheep." 


MAULE—  MARTIAL  183 

Compare  Martial  VI,  19 :  "  My  suit  has  nothing  to  do  with  assault, 
or  battery,  or  poisoning,  but  is  about  three  goats,  which,  I  complain,  have 
been  stolen  by  my  neighbour.  This  the  judge  desires  to  have  proved  to 
him  ;  but  you,  with  swelling  words  and  extravagant  gestures,  dilate  on  the 
Battle  of  Cannae,  the  Mithridatic  war,  and  the  perjuries  of  the  insensate 
Carthaginians,  the  Syllae,  the  Marii,  and  the  Mucii.  It  is  time,  Postumus, 
to  say  something  about  my  three  goats." 

The  reference  to  the  French  play  I  owe  to  King's  Classical  and  Foreign 
Quotations. 


(THE  wife  of  a  poor  man  deserted  him  for  another  man,  and  he 
married  again.  On  being  convicted  for  bigamy  Mr.  Justice 
Maule  sentenced  him  as  follows  :)  Prisoner  at  the  bar  :  You 
have  been  convicted  of  the  offence  of  bigamy,  that  is  to  say, 
of  marrying  a  woman  while  you  had  a  wife  still  alive,  though  it 
is  true  she  has  deserted  you  and  is  living  in  adultery  with  another 
man.  You  have,  therefore,  committed  a  crime  against  the  laws 
of  your  country,  and  you  have  also  acted  under  a  very  serious 
misapprehension  of  the  course  which  you  ought  to  have  pursued. 
You  should  have  gone  to  the  ecclesiastical  court  and  there 
obtained  against  your  wife  a  decree  a  mensa  et  thoro.  You  should 
then  have  brought  an  action  in  the  courts  of  common  law  and 
recovered,  as  no  doubt  you  would  have  recovered,  damages  against 
your  wife's  paramour.  Armed  with  these  decrees,  you  should 
have  approached  the  legislature  and  obtained  an  Act  of  Parlia- 
ment which  would  have  rendered  you  free  and  legally  competent 
to  marry  the  person  whom  you  have  taken  on  yourself  to  marry 
with  no  such  sanction.  It  is  quite  true  that  these  proceedings 
would  have  cost  you  many  hundreds  of  pounds,  whereas  you 
probably  have  not  as  many  pence.  But  the  law  knows  no  dis- 
tinction between  rich  and  poor.  The  sentence  of  the  court  upon 
you,  therefore,  is  that  you  be  imprisoned  for  one  day,  which  period 
has  already  been  exceeded,  as  you  have  been  in  custody  since 
the  commencement  of  the  assizes. 

SIR  W.  H.  MAUU?  (1788-1858). 

This  fine  piece  of  irony,  well  known  to  lawyers,  materially  helped  to 
end  the  old  bad  state  of  the  law  of  divorce.  We  need  more  men  of  the 
same  stamp  to  draw  attention  to  other  abuses. 


IS  this  pleading  causes,  China  ?  Is  this  speaking  eloquently 
to  say  nine  words  in  ten  hours  ?  Just  now  you  asked  with  a 
loud  voice  for  four  more  clepsydrae.*  What  a  long  time  you  take 
to  say  nothing,  Cinna  ! 

MARTIAI,  VIII,  7. 

•  Water-clocks,  used  like  an  hour-glass. 


184  BUCHANAN 

In  Racine's  comedy,  Les  Ptaideurs,  Act  III,  Sc.  Ill,  a  prolix  advocate 
begins  his  speech  by  referring  to  the  Creation  of  the  world.  "Avocat,  passons 
au  deluge  "  (Let  us  get  along  to  the  Deluge),  says  the  judge.  See  also 
The  Merchant  of  Venice,  Act  I,  Sc.  I: — 

Gratiano  speaks  an  infinite  deal  or  nothing ;  more  than  any  man  in 
all  Venice.  His  reasons  are  as  two  grains  of  wheat  hid  in  two  bushels 
of  chaff :  you  shall  seek  all  day  ere  you  find  them ;  and,  when  you  have 
them,  they  are  not  worth  the  search. 

"  THERE'S  nae  place  likehame,"  quoth  thede'il.  when  he  found 
himself  in  the  Court  o'  Session. 

SCOTTISH  PROVERB. 

I  understand  that  the  original  wording  was  " '  Hame's  hamely,' 
quoth  the  de'il,  etc."  Perhaps  the  only  English  Institution  which  the 
Hindu  appreciates  is  that  of  English  Law — but  not  as  a  system  of  Justice. 
To  his  acute  mind  it  is  a  remarkably  clever  and  most  ingenious  gambling 
game.  It  is  said  that  two  Hindus  will  even  fabricate  mutual  complaints, 
the  one  against  the  other,  to  bring  before  the  Courts — and  that  it  is 
almost  equivalent  to  a  patent  of  nobility  to  have  had  a  case  taken  to  the 
Privy  Council.  The  following  incident  actually  happened  to  a  friend  of 
mine  who  was  Resident  in  a  Native  State.  Sitting  in  his  judicial  capacity 
he  reproved  a  Hindu  gentleman  for  his  excessive  litigiousness.  The  latter 
retorted  that  it  was  a  case  of  the  pot  calling  the  kettle  black;  that  he  had 
seen  the  Resident  put  his  rupees  on  the  totalisator  the  day  before ;  and 
the  British  race-course  wasn't  a  bit  more  of  a  gamble  than  the  British 
Law  Courts.  For  his  part  he  preferred  to  have  his  flutter  on  the  latter. 


BANDER'S  RETURN  TO  EARTH* 

HE  sat  down  in  a  lonely  land 

Of  mountain,  moor,  and  mere, 
And  watch 'd,  with  chin  upon  his  hand, 

Dark  maids  that  milk'd  the  deer. 

And  while  the  sun  set  in  the  skies. 

And  stars  shone  in  the  blue. 
They  sang  sweet  songs,  till  B  alder's  eyes 

Were  sad  with  kindred  dew. 

He  passed  along  the  hamlets  dim 

With  twilight's  breath  of  balm, 
And  whatsoe'er  was  touch'd  by  him 

Grew  beautiful  and  calm 

*  When  '  Balder  the  Beautiful  "  was  published  in  the  Contemporary  (March- 
May,  1877),  Buchanan  had  the  following  note,  which  he  has  not  repeated  in  his  collected 
works  :  "  Balder  (in  this  poem)  is  the  divine  spirit  of  earthly  beauty  and  joy,  and  the  only 
one  of  the  gods  who  loves  and  pities  men.  Sick  of  the  darkness  of  heaven,  he  returns 
to  the  earth  which  fostered  him,  and  of  which  he  is  beloved,  and  now  for  the  first  time  he 
becomes  conscious  of  that  Shadow  of  Death  which  darkens  the  lot  of  all  mortal  things.' 


BUCHANAN  185 

He  came  unto  a  hut  forlorn 

As  evening  shadows  fell, 
And  saw  the  man  among  the  corn, 

The  woman  at  the  well. 

And  entering  the  darken'd  place, 

He  found  the  cradled  child  ; 
Stooping  he  lookt  into  its  face, 

Until  it  woke  and  smiled  ! 

Then  Balder  passed  into  the  night 

With  soft  and  shining  tread, 
The  cataract  called  upon  the  height, 

The  stars  gleam'd  overhead. 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  those  cold  skies 

Which  he  had  left  behind,— 
And  saw  the  banners  of  the  gods 

Blown  back  upon  the  wind. 

He  watched  them  as  they  came  and  fled , 

Then  his  divine  eyes  fell. 
"  I  love  the  green  Earth  best,"  he  said, 

"  And  I  on  Earth  will  dwell !  "  . 


Then  Balder  said,"  The  Earth  is  fair,  and  fair 
Yea  fairer  than  the  stormy  lives  of  gods. 
The  lives  of  gentle  dwellers  on  the  Earth  ; 
For  shapen  are  they  in  the  likenesses 
Of  goddesses  and  gods,  and  on  their  limbs 
Sunlight  and  moonlight  mingle,  and  they  lie 
Happy  and  calm  in  one  another's  arms 
O'er-canopied  with  greenness  ;  and  their  hands 
Have  fashioned  fire  that  springeth  beautiful 
Straight  as  a  silvern  lily  from  the  ground, 
Wondrously  blowing  ;  and  they  measure  out 
Glad  seasons  by  the  pulses  of  the  stars."  .  .  . 

And  Balder  bends  above  them,  glory-crown'd, 
Marking  them  as  they  creep  upon  the  ground, 
Busy  as  ants  that  toil  without  a  sound, 
With  only  sods  to  mark. 

But  list !  O  list !  what  is  that  cry  of  pain, 
Faint  as  the  far-off  murmur  of  the  main  ? 
Stoop  low  and  hearken.  Balder  !     I/ist  again  ! 
"  Lo  !  Death  makes  all  things  dark  !  " 


1 86  BUCHANAN 

Ay  me,  it  is  the  earthbom  souls  that  sigh, 
Coming  and  going  underneath  the  sky  ; 
They  move,  they  gather,  clearer  grows  their  cry — 
O  Balder,  bend,  and  hark  !  .  .  . 

(Oh,  listen !  listen !)     "  Blessed  is  the  light, 

We  love  the  golden  day,  the  silvern  night,  .  .  . 

"  And  yet  though  life  is  glad  and  love  divine, 
This  Shape  we  fear  is  here  i'  the  summer  shine, — 
He  blights  the  fruit  we  pluck,  the  wreath  we  twine, 

And  soon  he  leaves  us  stark. 

"  He  haunts  us  fleetly  on  the  snowy  steep, 
He  finds  us  as  we  sow  and  as  we  reap, 
He  creepeth  in  to  slay  us  as  we  sleep, — 
Ah,  Death  makes  all  things  dark." 

Bright  Balder  cried,  "  Curst  be  this  thing 

Which  will  not  let  man  rest, 
Slaying  with  swift  and  cruel  sting 

The  very  babe  at  breast ! 

"  On  man  and  beast,  on  flower  and  bird, 

He  creepeth  evermore  ; 
Unseen  he  haunts  the  Earth  ;  unheard 

He  crawls  from  door  to  door. 

"  I  will  not  pause  in  any  land, 

Nor  sleep  beneath  the  skies, 
Till  I  have  held  him  by  the  hand 

And  gazed  into  his  eyes  !  "  .  .  . 

He  sought  him  on  the  mountains  bleak  and  bare 

And  on  the  windy  moors  ; 
He  found  his  secret  footprints  everywhere, 

Yea,  ev'n  by  human  doors. 

All  round  the  deerfold  on  the  shrouded  height 

The  starlight  glimmer 'd  clear  ; 
Therein  sat  Death,  wrapt  round  with  vapours  white 

Touching  the  dove-eyed  deer. 

And  thither  Balder  silent-footed  flew, 

But  found  the  Phantom  not ; 
The   rain-wash'd   moon  had   risen   cold   and  blue 

Above  that  lonely  spot. 


BUCHANAN— TABB  187 

Then  as  he  stood  and  listen'd,  gazing  round 

In  the  pale  silvern  glow, 
He  heard  a  wailing  ancl  a  weeping  sound 

From  the  wild  huts  below. 

He  marked  the  sudden  flashing  of  the  lights 

He  heard  cry  answering  cry — 
And  lo  !  he  saw  upon  the  silent  heights 

A  shadowy  form  pass  by. 

Wan  was  the  face,   the  eyeballs  pale   and   wild, 
The  robes  like  rain  wind-blown, 

Arid  as  it  fled  it  clasp'd  a  naked  child 
Unto  its  cold  breast-bone. 

And  Balder  clutch'd  its  robe  with  fingers  weak 

To  stay  it  as  it  flew — 
A  breath  of  ice  blew  chill  upon  his  cheek, 

Blinding  his  eyes  of  blue. 

'Twas  Death  !  'twas  gone  ! — All  night  the  shepherds 
sped, 

Searching  the  hills  in  fear  ; 
At  dawn  they  found  their  lost  one  lying  dead 

Up  by  the  lone  black  mere. 

R.   BUCHANAN 

(Balder  the  Beautiful). 

I  retain  this  extract  from  Buchanan's  poem  for  the  reason  set  out  in 
the  preface. 


HOW  many  an  acorn  falls  to  die 

For  one  that  makes  a  tree  ! 
How  many  a  heart  must  pass  me  by 

For  one  that  cleaves  to  me  ! 

How  many  a  suppliant  wave  of  sound 

Must  still  unheeded  roll, 
For  one  low  iitterance  that  found 

An  echo  in  my  soul. 

JOHN  BANISTER  TABB  (b.  1845) 

I  have  "  Compensation  "  as  the  title  of  these  verses,  but  it  must 
surely  be  incorrect.  If  a  man  passes  through  life  unrecognised  by  kindred 
souls,  it  is  the  reverse  of  '  compensation  '  to  him  if  he  also  fails  to'recognise 
other  sympathetic  natures. 

The  author  is,  or  was,  an  American  Catholic  priest. 


i88  LF,  GAIJJENNE— VAUGHAN 

WHAT  we  gave,  we  have  ; 
What  we  spent,  we  had  ; 
What  we  left,  we  lost. 

(Epitaph  on  Earl  of  Devonshire,  about   1200  A.D.) 


AU<  SUNG 

WHAT  shall  I  sing  when  all  is  sung 

And  every  tale  is  told, 
And  in  the  world  is  nothing  young 

That  was  not  long  since  old  ? 

Why  should  I  fret  unwilling  ears 

With  old  things  sung  anew 
While  voices  from  the  old  dead  year 

Still  go  on  singing  too  ? 

A  dead  man  singing  of  his  maid 
Makes  all  my  rhymes  in  vain, 
Yet  his  poor  lips  must  fade  and  fade, 

^And  mine  shall  sing  again. 
Why  should  I  strive  thro'  weary  moons 
To  make  my  music  true  ? 
Only  the  dead  men  know  the  tunes 
The  live  world  dances  to. 

R.  1,1?  GAIJJENNK. 

Mr.  le  Gallienne  was  not  the  first  to  complain  that  poetic  subjects 
were  exhausted.  A  recent  Spectator  quotes  the  following  from  Choerilus, 
a  Samian  poet  of  the  Fifth  Century,  B.C.  £2,000  years  before  Shakespeare)  : 
"  Happy  was  the  follower  of  the  muses  in  that  time,  when  the  field  was 
still  virgin  soil.  But  now  when  all  has  been  divided  up  and  the  arts  have 
reached  their  limits,  we  are  left  behind  in  the  race,  and,  look  where'er  we 
may,  there  is  no  room  anywhere  for  a  new-yoked  chariot  to  make  its  way 
to  the  front."  (St.  John  Thackeray,  Anthologia  Graced]. 


GO  out  into  the  woods  and  valleys,  when  your  heart  is  rather 
harassed  than  bruised,  and  when  you  suffer  from  vexation  more 
than  grief.  Then  the  trees  all  hold  out  their  arms  to  you  to  relieve 
you  of  the  burthen  of  your  heavy  thoiights ;  and  the  streams  under 
the  trees  glance  at  you  as  they  run  by,  and  will  carry  away  your 
trouble  along  with  the  fallen  leaves  ;  and  the  sweet-breathing  air 


VAUGHAN— MASNAIR  189 

will  draw  it  off  together  with  the  silver  multitudes  of  the  dew.  But 
let  it  be  with  anguish  or  remorse  in  your  heart  that  you  go  forth 
iuto  Nature,  and  instead  of  your  speaking  her  language,  you  make 
her  speak  yours.  Your  distress  is  then  infused  through  all  things 
and  clothes  all  tilings,  and  Nature  only  echoes  and  seems  to 
authenticate  your  self-loathing  or  your  hopelessness.  Then  you 
find  the  device  of  your  sorrow  on  the  argent  shield  of  the  moon, 
and  see  all  the  trees  of  the  field  weeping  and  wringing  their  hands 
with  you,  while  the  hills,  seated  at  your  side  in  sackcloth,  look 
down  upon  you  prostrate,  and  reprove  you  like  the  comforters 
of  Job. 

ROBERT  ALFRED  VAUGIIAN    (1823-1857) 
(Hours  n-ith  the  Mystics). 

If  this  fine  writer  had  lived,  much  might  have  been  expected  of  him. 
He  is  one  of  the  many  instances  of  "  the  fatal  thirty-fours  and  thirty- 
sevens." 


FIRST  man  appeared  in  the  class  of  inorganic  tilings, 

Next  he  passed  therefrom  into  that  of  plants, 

For  years  he  lived  as  one  of  the  plants, 

Remembering  nought  of  his  inorganic  state  so  different ; 

And,  when  he  passed  from  the  vegetive  to  the  animal  state, 

He  had  no  remembrance  of  his  state  as  a  plant, 

Except  the  inclination  he  felt  to  the  world  of  plants, 

Especially  at  the  time  of  spring  and  sweet  flowers  ; 

Like  the  inclination  of  infants  towards  their  mothers, 

Which  know  not  the  cause  of  their  inclination  to  the  breast. 

Again,  the  great  Creator,  as  you  know, 

Drew  man  out  of  the  animal  into  the  human  state. 

Tims  man  passed  from  one  order  of  nature  to  another, 

Till  he  became  wise  and  knowing  and  strong  as  he  is  now. 

Of  his  first  souls  he  has  now  no  remembrance, 

And  he  will  be  again  changed  from  his  present,  soul.* 

MASNAIR  (Bk.  IV)  of  Jalal  ad  Din  (ijth  century). 


THE  gases  gather  to  the  solid  firmament ;  the  chemic  lump 
arrives  at  the  plant  and  grows  ;  arrives  at  the  quadruped  and 
walks  ;  arrives  at  the  man  and  thinks. 

KMKRSOX 
(Uses  of  Great  Men\ 

•  Quoted  iu  E.  Clodd's  Story  of  Creation 


ipo  CARROLL 


HIAWATHA'S  PHOTOGRAPHING 

FROM  his  shoulder  Hiawatha 
Took  the  camera  of  rosewood, 
Made  of  sliding,  folding  rosewood  ; 
This  he  perched  upon  a  tripod — 
Crouched  beneath  its  dusky  cover — 
Stretched  his  hand,  enforcing  silence — 
Said,  "  Be  motionless,  I  beg  you  !  " 
Mystic,  awful  was  the  process. 

All  the  family  in  order 
Sat  before  him  for  their  pictures  : 
Each  in  turn,  as  he  was  taken, 
Volunteered  his  own  suggestions, 
His  ingenious  suggestions. 

First  the  Governor,  the  Father  : 
He  suggested  velvet  curtains 
Looped  about  a  massy  pillar  ; 
And  the  corner  of  a  table, 
Of  a  rosewood  dining-table. 
He  would  hold  a  scroll  of  something, 
Hold  it  firmly  in  his  left-hand  ; 
He  would  keep  his  right-hand  buried 
(Like  Napoleon)  in  his  waistcoat ; 
He  would  contemplate  the  distance 
With  a  look  of  pensive  meaning, 
As  of  ducks  that  die  in  tempests. 

Grand,  heroic  was  the  notion  : 
Yet  the  picture  failed  entirely  : 
Failed,  because  he  moved  a  little, 
Moved,  because  he  couldn't  help  it. 

Next,  his  better  half  took  courage  ; 
She  would  have  her  picture  taken, 
She  came  dressed  beyond  description, 
Dressed  in  jewels  and  in  satin 
Far  too  gorgeous  for  an  empress. 
Gracefully  she  sat  down  sideways, 
With  a  simper  scarcely  human, 
Holding  in  her  hand  a  bouquet 
Rather  larger  than  a  cabbage. 
All  the  while  that  she  was  sitting, 
Still  the  lady  chattered,  chattered, 
Lil.ce  a  monkey  in  the  forest, 
"  Am  I  sitting  still  ?  "   she  asked  him 
"  Is  my  face  enough  in  profile  ? 
Shall  I  hold  the  bouquet  higher  ? 
Will  it  come  into  the  picture  ?  " 
And  the  picture  failed  completely. 

Next  the  Son,  the  Stunning-Cantab 


CARROLL  191 

He  suggested  curves  of  beauty, 
Curves  pervading  all  his  figure, 
Which  the  eye  might  follow  onward, 
Till  they  centered  in  the  breast-pin, 
Centered  in  the  golden  breast-pin. 
He  had  learnt  it  all  from  Riiskin 
And  perhaps  he  had  not  fully 
Understood  his  author's  meaning  ; 
But,  whatever  was  the  reason, 
All  was  fruitless,  as  the  picture 
Ended  in  an  utter  failure. 

Next  to  him  the  eldest  daughter  : 
vShe  suggested  very  little. 
Only  asked  if  he  would  take  her 
With  her  look  of  "  passive  beauty." 

Her  idea  of  passive  beauty 
Was  a  squinting  of  the  left-eye, 
Was  a  drooping  of  the  right-eye, 
Was  a  smile  that  went  up  sideways 
To  the  corner  of  the  nostrils. 

Hiawatha,  when  she  asked  him, 
Took  no  notice  of  the  question, 
Looked  as  if  he  hadn't  heard  it ; 
But,  when  pointedly  appealed  to, 
Smiled  in  his  peculiar  manner, 
Coughed  and  said  it  "  didn't  matter," 
Bit  his  lip  and  changed  the  subject. 

Nor  in  this  was  he  mistaken, 
As  the  picture  failed  completely. 

So  in  turn  the  other  sisters. 

Last,  the  youngest  son  was  taken  : 
Very  rough  and  thick  his  hair  was, 
Very  round  and  red  his  face  was, 
Very  dusty  was  his  jacket, 
Very   fidgety   his   manner. 
And  his  overbearing  sisters 
Called  him  names  he  disapproved  of : 
Called  him  Johnny,  "  Daddy's  Darling," 
Called  him  Jacky,   "Scrubby  School-boy." 
And,  so  awful  was  the  picture, 
In  comparison  the  others 
Seemed,  to  his  bewildered  fancy, 
To  have  partially  succeeded. 

Finally  my  Hiawatha 
Tumbled  all  the  tribe  together, 
("  Grouped  "  is  not  the  right  expression). 
And,  as  happy  chance  would  have  it, 
Did  at  last  obtain  a  picture 


192  CARROLL— ELIOT 

Where  the  faces  all  succeeded  : 
Each  came  out  a  perfect  likeness. 

Then  they  joined  and  all  abused  it, 
Unrestrainedly  abused  it, 
As  "  the  worst  and  ugliest  picture 
They  could  possibly  have  dreamed  oh 
Giving  one  such  strange  expressions- - 
Sullen,  stupid,  pert  expressions. 
Really  any  one  would  take  us 
(Any  one  that  did  not  know  us) 
For  the  most  unpleasant  people  !  " 
(Hiawatha  seemed  to  think  so, 
Seemed  to  think  it  not  unlikely). 
All  together  rang  their  voices, 
Angry,  loud,  discordant  voices, 
As  of  dogs  that  howl  in  concert, 
As  of  cats  that  wail  in  chorus. 

But  my  Hiawatha's  patience, 
His  politeness  and  his  patience. 
Unaccountably  had  vanished, 
And  he  left  that  happy  party. 
Neither  did  he  leave  them  slowly, 
With  the  calm  deliberation, 
The  intense  deliberation 
Of   a   photographic   artist : 
But  he  left  them  in  a  hurry, 
Left  them  in  a  mighty  hurry, 
Stating  that  he  would  not  stand  it, 
Stating  in  emphatic  language 
What  he'd  be  before  he'd  stand  it. 
Thus  departed  Hiawatha. 

LEWIS  CARROU,  (C.  L.  Dodgson)   1832-1898. 


IT  is  a  sad  weakness  in  us,  after  all,  that  the  thought  of  a  man's 
death  hallows  him  anew  to  us  ;  as  if  life  were  not  sacred  too, 
— as  if  it  were  comparatively  a  light  thing  to  fail  in  love  and 
reverence  to  the  brother  who  has  to  climb  the  whole  toilsome 
steep  with  us,  and  all  our  tears  and  tenderness  were  due  to  the 
one  who  is  spared  that  hard  journey. 

GKORGE  EIJOT 

(Janet's   Repentance). 


IT  has  been  said  by  Schiller,  in  his  letters  on  aesthetic  culture, 
that  the  sense  of  beauty  never  faithered  the  performance  of  a 
single  duty. 


RUSKIN— BROWNING  193 

Although  this  gross  and  inconceivable  falsity  will  hardly  be 
accepted  by  any  one  in  so  many  terms,  seeing  that  there  are  few 
so  utterly  lost  but  that  they  receive,  and  know  that  they  receive, 
at  certain  moments,  strength  of  some  kind,  or  rebuke  from  the 
appealings  of  outward  things  ;  and  that  it  is  not  possible  for  a 
Christian  man  to  walk  across  so  much  as  a  rood  of  the  natural 
earth,  with  mind  unagitated  and  rightly  poised,  without  receiving 
strength  and  hope  from  stone,  flower,  leaf  or  sound,  nor  with- 
out a  sense  of  a  dew  falling  upon  him  out  of  the  sky  ;  though  I 
say  this  falsity  is  not  wholly  and  in  terms  admitted,  yet  it 
seems  to  be  partly  and  practically  so  in  much  of  the  doing  and 
teaching  even  of  holy  men,  who  in  the  recommending  of  the  love 
of  God  to  us,  refer  but  seldom  to  those  things  in  which  it  is  most 
abundantly  and  immediately  shown  ;  though  they  insist  much  on 
his  giving  of  bread,  and  raiment,  and  health  (which  he  gives  to 
all  inferior  creatures),  they  require  us  not  to  thank  him  for  that 
glory  of  his  works  which  he  has  permitted  us  alone  to  perceive  : 
they  tell  us  often  to  meditate  in  the  closet,  but  they  send  us  not, 
like  Isaac,  into  the  fields  at  even  ;  they  dwell  on  the  duty  of 
self-denial,  but  they  exhibit  not  the  duty  of  delight.* 

JOHN  RUSKIN 
(Modern  Painters,  III,  I,  XV). 


NOT  on  the  vulgar  mass 

Called  "  work  "  must  sentence  pass, 
Things  done,  that  took  the  eye  and  had  the  price  ; 

O'er  which,  from  level  stand, 

The  low  world  laid  its  hand, 
Found  straightway  to  its  mind,  could  value  in  a  trice  : 

But  all,  the  world's  coarse  thumb 

And  finger  failed  to  plumb, 
So  passed  in  making  up  the  main  account  ; 

All  instincts  immature. 

All   purposes   unsure. 
That  weighed  not  as  his  work,  yet  swelled  the  man's  amount 

Thoughts  hardly  to  be  packed 

Into  a  narrow  act, 
Fancies  that  broke  through  language  and  escaped  ; 

All,  I  could  never  be, 

All,  men  ignored  in  me, 
This,  I  was  worth  to  God,  whose  wheel  the  pitcher  shaped. 


i94  BROWNING 

So,  take  and  use  thy  work  : 
Amend,  what   flaws   may   lurk, 

What  strain  o'  the  stuff,  what  warpings  past  the  aim  ! 
My  times  be  in  Thy  hand  ! 
Perfect  the  c\\p  as  planned  ! 
L/et  age  approve  of  youth,  and  death  complete  the  same. 

ROBERT  BROWNING 
(Rabbi  ben  Ezra}. 

"  All  (that)  I  could  never  be,  All  (that)  man  ignored  in  me."  All 
that  the  world  could  not  know,  a  man's  thoughts,  desires,  and  intentions, 
all  that  he  wished  or  tried  to  be  or  do,  although  unknown  to  his  fellows, 
have  their  value  in  God's  eyes.  Man  is  the  Cup,  whose  shape  (i.e.,  character) 
has  been  formed  by  the  wheel  of  the  great  Potter,  God.  See  further  as  to 
this  Eastern  metaphor. 

The  late  Mrs.  A.  W.  Verrall,  widow  of  Doctor  Verrall  and  herself  a 
brilliant  scholar,  pointed  out  in  the  Proceedings  of  the  Society  for  Psychical 
Research,  June,  1911,  a  probable  connection  between  "  Rabbi  ben  Ezra," 
and  "  Omar  Khayyam,"  and  I  do  not  think  that  her  interesting  views 
have  been  published  elsewhere. 

Both  poems  centre  round  the  idea  of  man  as  a  Cup,  but  treat  the  meta- 
phor from  very  different  standpoints.  Omar's  cup  (quoting  from  the  first 
edition)  is  to  be  filled  with  "  Life's  Liquor  "  (ii),  with  "  Wine  !  Red  Wine  !  " 
(vi),  with  what  "  clears  To-Day  of  past  regrets' '  (xx) ;  the  object  is  to  drown 
the  memory  of  the  fact  that  "without  asking"  we  are  "hurried  hither" 
and  "  hurried  hence  "  (xxx)  ;  the  "  Ruby  Vintage  "  is  to  be  drunk  "  with 
old  Khayyam,"  and  "  when  the  Angel  with  his  darker  Draught  draws 
up  "  to  us  we  are  to  take  that  draught  without  shrinking  (xlviii).  On  the 
other  hand  Rabbi  ben  Ezra's  Cup  is  to  be  used  by  the  great  Potter.  We 
are  told  to  look  "  not  down  but  up  !  to  uses  of  a  cup  "  (30).  The  Rabbi 
asks  "  God  who  mouldest  men  ....  to  take  and  use  His  work  "  (32)  and 
the  ultimate  purpose  of  the  Cup,  when  it  has  been  made  "  perfect  as  planned," 
is  to  slake  the  thirst  of  the  Master. 

The  comparison  of  man  to  the  Clay  of  the  Potter  in  both  poems  is 
not  sufficient  in  itself  to  show  any  connection  between  them.  Such  a 
comparison  is  found,  as  Fitzgerald  reminds  us,  "  in  the  Literature  of  the 
World  from  the  Hebrew  Prophets  to  the  present  time  "* ;  and  it  is  as 
appropriately  employed  by  the  Hebrew  as  by  the  Persian  thinker.  But 
Mrs.  Verrall  has  other  grounds  : 

The  little  pamphlet  in  its  brown  wrapper  containing  the  Rubaiyat 
of  Omar  Khayyam  was  first  published  by  Edward  Fitzgerald  in  1859,  and, 
as  is  well  known,  attracted  so  little  attention  that,  although  there  were 
only  250  copies,  it  found  its  way  into  the  two-penny  boxes  of  the  book- 
sellers. (It  now  sells  for  about  £50  !)  But,  nevertheless,  the  poem  was 
eagerly  read  and  enthusiastically  praised  by  a  small  group,  among  whom 
were  Swinburne  and  Rossetti.  In  1861  Robert  Browning  came  to  live 

*  See,  for  instance,  Kipling's  beautiful  poem  "  A  Dedication  " 
The  depth  and  dream  of  my  desire, 

The  bitter  paths  wherein  I  stray, 
Thou  knowest  Who  hast  made  the  Fire, 

Thou  knowest  Who  hast  made  the  Clay. 


BROWNING— WHITTIER  195 

in  London,  and  often  saw  Rossetti,  who  was  his  friend.  It  is,  therefore, 
very  improbable  that  he  did  not  learn  of  the  poem,  which  had  so  impressed 
Rossetti.  In  1864  "  Rabbi  ben  Ezra "  was  published  in  the  volume 
called  Dramatis  Personae. 

Again,  there  is  intrinsic  evidence  that  Browning  intended  a  direct 
refutation  of  Omar's  theory  of  life.  Compare  verses  26  and  27  of  "  Rabbi 
ben  Ezra  "  with  verses  xxxvi  and  xxxvii  of  "  Omar  Khayyam  "  (first 
edition). 

Omar  says  that  he  "  watched  the  Potter  thumping  his  wet  clay," 
and,  thereupon  advises  : 

Ah,  fill  the  Cup  ; — what  boots  it  to  repeat 

How  Time  is  slipping  underneath  our  Feet : 

Unborn  To-morrow  and  dead  Yesterday, 

Why  fret  about  them  if  To-day  be  sweet ! 

Rabbi  ben  Ezra  says : 

.  .  .  Note  that  Potter's  wheel, 
That  metaphor ! 
and  proceeds : 

Thou,  to  whom  fools  propound, 
When  the  wine  makes  its  round, 

"  Since  life  fleets,  all  is  change  ;  the  Past  gone,  seize  To-day  !  " 
Fool !  all  that  is,  at  all, 
Lasts  ever,  past  recall ; 
Earth  changes,  but  thy  soul  and  God  stand  sure. 

Although  the  "  carpe  diem  "  ("  seize  to-day  ")  theory  of  life  is  no 
doubt  common  to  all  literatures,  the  cumulative  effect  of  Mrs.  Verrall's 
argument  is  strong,  although  not  conclusive. 

As  regards  the  above  verses,  compare  the  next  quotation. 


FROM  Thy  will  stream  the  worlds,  life  and  nature,  Thy  dread 

Sabaoth  : 

I  will  ? — the  mere  atoms  despise  me  !      Why  am  I  not  loth 
To  look  that,  even  that,  in  the  face  too  ?     Why  is  it  I  dare 
Think  but  lightly  of  such  impuissance  ?     What  stops  my  despair  ? 
This  : — 'tis  not  what  man   Does   which  exalts  him,  but   what 
man  Would  do  ! 

R.  BROWNING 
(Saul). 

Sabaotb,  armies,  hosts.     "  Holy,  Holy,  Holy,  Lord  God  of  Sabaoth." 


LET  the  thick  curtain  fall  ; 
I  better  know  than  all 
How  little  I  have  gained, 
How  vast  the  unattained. 


io6  WHITTIER  AND  OTHERS 

Not  by  the  page  word-painted 
Let  life  be  banned  or  sainted  ; 
Deeper  than  written  scroll 
The  colours  of  the  soul. 

Sweeter  than  any  sung 

My  songs  that  found  no  tongue  ; 

Nobler  than  any  fact 

My  wish  that  failed  of  act. 

J.  G.  WHITTIER 
(My  Triumph). 

BETWEEN  the  great  things  that  we  cannot  do,  and  the  small 
things  we  will  riot  do,  the  danger  is  that  we  shall  do  nothing. 

ADOLPH  MONOD  (1802-1856). 

REPUTATION  is  what  men  and  women  think  of  us  ; 
Character  is  what  God  and  the  angels  know  of  us. 

THOMAS  PAINE. 

LOVE  is  the  Amen  of  the  Universe. 

NOVAI.IS* 

HE  (Dr.  Johnson)  would  not  allow  Scotland  to  derive  any 
credit  from  Lord  Mansfield,  for  he  was  educated  in  England. 
"  Much,"  said  he,  "  may  be  made  of  a  Scotchman,  if  he  be  caught 
young." 

BOSWKI.L 
(Life  of  Johnson). 

(A  MR.  STRAHAN,  a  Scotchman,  asked  Dr.  Johnson  what  he 
thought  of  Scotland)  "  That  it  is  a  very  vile  country  to  be  sure, 
Sir,"  returned  for  answer  Dr.  Johnson.  "  Well.  Sir  !  "  replied 
the  other,  somewhat  mortified,  "  God  made  it."  "  Certainly 
he  did,"  answered  Mr.  Johnson  again,  "  but  we  must  always 
remember  that  he  made  it  for  Scotchmen." 

MRS.    PIOZZI 
(Johnsoniana). 

These  are  the  two  best  of  Johnson's  chaffing  jibes  against  Scotchmen. 
The  neatness  of  the  latter  is,  to  my  mind,  spoilt  by  the  words  at  the  end, 
which  I  have  omitted  :  "  and — comparisons  are  odious,  Mr.  Strahan,— - 
but  God  made  hell."  The  following  may  also  be  quoted  as  showing  both 
Johnson  and  that  clever  charlatan,  Wilkes,  quizzing  Boswell  (year  1781): 


TAYLOR— BOYD  197 

Wilkes  :  "  Pray,  Boswell,  how  much  may  be  got  in  a  year  by  an 
advocate  at  the  Scotch  bar  ?  " 

Boswdl :  "  I  believe  two  thousand  pounds." 

Wilkes  -.  "  How  can  it  be  possible  to  spend  that  money  in  Scotland  ?' 

Johnson  :  "  Why,  Sir,  the  money  may  be  spent  in  England ; 
but  there  is  a  harder  question.  If  one  man  in  Scotland  gets  possession  of 
two  thousand  pounds,  what  remains  for  all  the  rest  of  the  nation  ?  " 

Many  Scotchmen  undoubtedly  enjoy  chaff  against  themselves  and  their 
country,  and  I  think  this  was  so  with  Boswell.  It  is  a  phase  of  social 
psychology  that  needs  explaining. 

In  these  jokes  Johnson  was,  consciously  or  not,  influenced  by  the  fine 
Royalist  poet,  John  Cleveland  (1613-1658);  but  the  latter  was  very  much 
in  earnest.  He  detested  the  Scotch  for  fighting  against  Charles  I.  His 
references  to  Scotland  in  The  Rebel  Scot  are  wonderfully  clever : — 

A  land  that  brings  in  question  and  suspense 

God's  omnipresence. 

And  again: — 

Had  Cain  been  Scot,  God  would  have  changed  his  doom ; 
Not  forced  him  wander,  but  confined  him  home ! 


GOD  is  present  by  His  essence  ;  which,  because  it  is  infinite, 
cannot  be  contained  within  the  limits  of  any  place  ;  and  because 
He  is  of  an  essential  purity  and  spiritual  nature,  He  cannot 
be  undervalued  by  being  supposed  present  in  the  places  oi 
unnatural  uncleanness  :  because,  as  the  sun,  reflecting  upon  the 
mud  of  strands  and  shores,  is  unpolluted  in  its  beams,  so  is  God 
not  dishonoured  when  we  suppose  Him  in  every  one  of  His 
creatures,  and  in  every  part  of  every  one  of  them. 

JEREMY  TAYLOR 
(Holv  Living,  Ch.   i,  Sec.  3). 

There  is  an  old  Scottish  proverb,  "  The  sun  is  no  waur  for  shining 
on  the  midden." 

I  DART?  say  Alexander  the  Great  was  somewhat  staggered  in 
his  plans  of  conquest  by  Parmenio's  way  of  putting  things. 
"  After  you  have  conquered  Persia  what  will  you  do  ?  "  "  Then 
I  shall  conquer  India."  "  After  you  have  conquered  India, 
what  will  you  do  ?  "  "  Conquer  Scythia."  "  And  after  you  have 
conquered  Scythia,  what  will  you  do  ?  "  "Sit  down  and  rest." 
"  Well,"  said  Parmenio  to  the  conqueror,  "  why  not  sit  down 
and  rest  now  ?  " 

A.  K.  H.  BOYD 
(The  Recreations  of  a  Country  Parson}. 


BOYD 


I  include  this  because  it  is  a  good  short  paraphrase  of  the  actual  story 
of  Pyrrhus  and  Cineas  (Plutarch's  Lives — "  Pyrrkus  ")  and  because  of  the 
curious  absurdity  of  attributing  such  philosophic  advice  to  the  warrior, 
Parmenio.  This  general  was  the  only  one  of  Alexander's  old  advisers  who 
urged  him  to  invade  Asia  !  (Plutarch's  Lives — "  Alexander "). 


SORROW  and  care  and  anxiety  may  quite  well  live  in 
Kli/.abethan  cottages,  grown  over  with  honeysuckle  and  jasmine  ; 
and  very  sad  eyes  may  look  forth  from  windows  around  which 
roses  twine. 

A.  K.  H.  BOYD 

(The  Recreations  of  a  Country  Parson}. 

This  book  had  a  great  vogue,  but  not  sufficient  merit  to  preserve  it 
from  oblivion. 


CANADIAN  BOAT-SONG 

From  the  Gaelic. 

USTE)N  to  me,  as  when  ye  heard  our  father 

Sing  long  ago  the  song  of  other  shores — 
Listen  to  me,  and  then  in  chorus  gather 

All  your  deep  voices,  as  ye  pull  your  oars  : 

CHORUS. 

Fair   these   broad  meads — these    hoary   woods   are   grand  ; 
But  we  are  exiles  from  our  father's  land. 

From  the  lone  sheiling  of  the  misty  island 
Mountains  divide  us,  and  the  waste  of  seas — 

Yet  still  the  blood  is  strong,  the  heart  is  Highland, 
And  we  in  dreams  behold  the  Hebrides  : 

Fair  these  broad  meads,  etc. 

We  ne'er  shall  tread  the  fancy-haunted  valley, 

Where  'tween  the  dark  hills  creeps  the  small  clear  stream, 

In  arms  around  the  patriarch  banner  rally, 
Nor  see  the  moon  on  royal  tombstones  gleam  : 

Fair  these  broad  meads,  etc. 

When  the  bold  kindred,  in  the  time  long  vanish 'd, 
Conquered  the  soil  and  fortified  the  keep, — 

No  seer  foretold  the  children  would  be  banish'd, 
That  a  degenerate  lyord  might  boast  his  sheep  ; 

Fair  these  broad  mends,  etc. 


TENNYSON— MYERS  IQQ 

Come  foreign  rage — let  Discord  burst  in  slaughter  I 
O  then  for  clansmen  true,  and  stern  claymore — 

The  hearts  that  would  have  given  their  blood  like  water. 
Beat  heavily  beyond  the  Atlantic  roar. 

Fair   these    broad   meads — these    hoary   woods   are   grand  ; 

But  we  are  exiles  from  our  fathers'  land. 

The  authorship  of  these  verses  is  uncertain,  but  it  probably  lies  between 
John  Gait,  author  of  Annals  of  the  Parish,  and  Lockhart,  son-in-law  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott.  The  verses  were  cjuoted  by  Professor  Wilson  (Christopher 
North)  in  his  Nodes  Ambrosianae  in  Black-wood,  Sept.,  1829,  but,  because 
Wilson  was  not  the  author,  they  are  not  reproduced  in  his  collected  works 
(Blackwood,  18515). 

A  degenerate  Lord,  &c.  This  refers  to  the  eviction  of  the  Highland 
crofters  and  cottars.  In  1829  the  Duke  of  Hamilton  had  just  cleared  the 
population  out  of  the  Isle  of  Arran. 

Sheiling  or  Sbealing,  a  hut  used  by  shepherds,  fishermen,  or  others 
for  shelter  when  at  work  at  a  distance  from  home. 


LOVE  took  up  the  harp  of  Life,  and  smote  on  all  the   chords 

with  might  ; 

Smote  the  chord  of  Self,  that,  trembling,  passed  in  music  out 
of  sight. 

TENNYSON 
(Locksley  Hall). 


IF  thou  wouldst  have  high  God  thy  soul  assure 

That  she  herself  shall  as  herself  endure, 

Shall  in  no  alien  semblance,  thine  and  wise, 

Fulfil  her  and  be  young  in  Paradise, 

One  way  I  know ;  forget,  forswear,  disdain 

Thine  own  best  hopes,  thine  utmost  loss  and  gain, 

Till  when  at  last  thou  scarce  rememberest  now 

If  on  the  earth  be  such  a  man  as  thou, 

Nor  hast  one  thought  of  self-surrender, — no, 

For  self  is  none  remaining  to  forego, — 

If  ever,  then  shall  strong  persuasion  fall 

That  in  thy  giving  thou  hast  gained  thine  all, 

Given  the  poor  present,  gained  the  boundless  scope, 

And  kept  thee  virgin  for  the  further  hope 


200  MYERS— SMITH 

When  all  base  thoughts  like  frighted  harpies  flown 

In  her  own  beauty  leave  the  soul  alone  ; 

When  I/ove, — not  rosy-flushed  as  he  began. 

But  Love,  still  I<ove,  the  prisoned  God  in  man,-- 

Shows  his  face  glorious,  shakes  his  banner  free, 

Cries  like  a  captain  for  Eternity  : — 

O  halcyon  air  across  the  storms  of  youth, 

O  trust  him,  he  is  true,  he  is  one  with  Truth  ! 

Nay,  is  he  Christ  ?     I  know  not ;  no  man  knows 

The  right  name  of  the  heavenly  Anteros, — 

But  here  is  God,  whatever  God  may  be, 

And  whomsoe'er  we  worship,  this  is  He. 

F.  W.  MYERS 
(The  Implicit  Promise  of  Immortality.} 

Anter6s  is  the  god  of  mutual  love,  who  punishes  those  who  do  not 
return  the  love  of  others,  as  otherwise  his  brother  Er&s,  god  of  love,  will 
be  unhappy. 

The  fine  jJoem  from  which  this  is  quoted  represents  one  of  the  phases  of 
Myers*  experience.  It  was  published  in  1882,  but  written  about  ten 
years  before.  He  had  then  lost  his  faith  in  Christianity,  but  believed  in 
a  future  life  on  grounds  based  partly  upon  philosophy  and  partly  on 
"  vision."  He  had  those  moments  of  exaltation  when,  as  he  says  : 

The  open  secret  flashes  on  the  brain, 

As  if  one  almost  guessed  it,  almost  knew 

Whence  we  have  sailed  and  voyage  whereunto. 

For  entrance  into  the  future  life,  Love  and  complete  Self-surrender 
are  the  best  equipment  for  the  soul. 


BUT  all  through  lif e  I  see  a  Cross, 

Where  sons  of  God  yield  up  their  breath  : 
There  is  no  gain  except  by  loss, 

There  is  no  life  except  by  death, 

There  is  no  vision  but  by  Faith, 
Nor  glory  but  by  bearing  shame, 
Nor  Justice  but  bjr  taking  blame  ; 

And  that  Eternal  Passion  saith, 
"  Be  emptied  of  glory  and  right  and  name." 

W.  C.  SMITH 
(Olrig  Grange}. 


AMIEL  AND  OTHERS  201 

LIFE  is  short,  and  we  have  not  too  much  time  tor  gladdening 
the  lives  of  those  who  are  travelling  the  dark  road  with  us.  Oh, 
be  swift  to  love,  make  haste  to  be  kind. 

AMIEI/S  Journal. 


SELF-SACRIFICE 

WHAT  though  thine  arm  hath  conquered  in  the  fight, — 
What  though  the  vanquished  yield  unto  thy  sway, 
Or  riches  garnered  pave  thy  golden  way, — 

Not  therefore  hast  thou  gained  the  scvran  height 

Of  man's  nobility  !     No  halo's  light 

From  these  shall  round  thee  shed  its  sacred  ray  ; 
If  these  be  all  thy  joy, — then  dark  thy  day, 

And  darker  still  thy  swift  approaching  night ! 

But  if  in  thee  more  truly  than  in  others 

Hath  dwelt  Love's  charity  ; — if  by  thine  aid 
Others  have  passed  above  thee,  and  if  thou, 

Though  victor,  yieldest  victory  to  thy  brothers, 

Though    conquering    conquered,    and    a    vassal    made — 
Then  take  thy  crown,  well  mayst  thou  wear  it  now. 
SAMUEI,  WADDINGTON. 


WE  bury  decay  in  the  earth  ;  we  plant  in  it  the  perishing  ; 
we  feed  it  with  offensive  refuse  :  but  nothing  grows  out  of  it 
that  is  not  clean  ;  it  gives  us  back  life  and  beauty. 

CHARGES  DUDLEY  WARNER 

(My  Summer  in  a  Garden}. 


SOUL'S  BEAUTY 

UNDER  the  arch  of  Life,  where  love  and  death, 
Terror  and  mystery  guard  her  shrine,  I  saw 
Beauty  enthroned ;    and   though  her   gaze   struck   awe, 

I  drew  it  in  as  simply  as  my  breath. 

Hers  are  the  eyes  which,  over  and  beneath, 
The  sky  and  sea  bend  on  thee, — which  can  draw, 
By  sea  or  sky  or  woman,  to  one  law, 

The  allotted  bondman  of  her  palm  and  wreath. 


202  ROSSETTI  AND  OTHERS 

This  is  that  lyady  Beauty,  in  whose  praise 

Thy  voice   and  hand  shake   still, — long  known  to  thee 
By  flying  hair  and  fluttering  hem, — the  beat 
Following  her  daily  of  thy  heart  and  feet, 
How  passionately  and  irretrievably, 
In  what  fond  flight,  how  many  ways  and  days  ! 

D.  G.  ROSSETTI. 

Although  Rossetti  was  not  a  classical  student,  he  seems  here  to  have 
arrived  at  the  Platonic  idea  of  an  abstract  Beauty,  of  whose  essence  are  all 
beautiful  things,  "  sea  or  sky  or  woman."  Love  and  death,  terror  and 
mystery  guard  her,  as  a  goddess  on  her  throne,  and  all  lovers  of  the  beautiful 
are  worshippers  at  her  shrine. 


THINKING  is  only  a  dream  of  feeling  ;  a  dead  feeling  ;  a  pale- 
grey,  feeble  life. 

NOVAI.IS. 


A  WHETSTONE  cannot  cut,  but  it  makes  iron  sharp,  and 
gives  it  a  keen  edge. 

ISOCRATES  (436-338  B.C.). 

This  is  quoted  in  Plutarch's  Lives.  Isocrates  was  asked  why  he  taught 
rhetoric  so  much  and  yet  spoke  so  rarely ;  and  this  was  his  reply.  Horace 
(Ars  Poetica  304)  playfully  says  that  he  is  no  longer  able  to  write  verses 
but  he  will  teach  others  to  write,  adding  "  a  whetstone  is  not  used  for  cutting, 
but  is  used  for  sharpening  steel  nevertheless." 

The  career  of  Isocrates,  "  that  old  man  eloquent,"*  is  extremely 
interesting.  He  preserved  his  energy  and  his  influence  to  the  end  of  his 
long  life  of  98  years. 


FROM  too  much  love  of  living, 

From  hope  and  fear  set  free, 
We  thank  with  brief  thanksgiving 

Whatever  gods  there  be 
That  no  life  lives  for  ever  ; 
That  dead  men  rise  up  never  ; 
That  even  the  weariest  river 

Winds  somewhere  safe  to  sea. 

SWINBURNE 
(The  Garden  of  Proserpine). 

A  very  musical  expression  of  a  very  ugly  thought. 
•  Milton's  sonnet,  "To  the  Lady  Margaret  Ley." 


EIJOT— VAUGHAN  203 

WOMEN   never    betray  themselves   to  men  as   they  do    to 
each  other. 

GEORGK  EUOT 

(Middlemarch) . 


THE  RETREAT 

HAPPY  those  early  days,  when  I 
Shined  in  my  Angel -infancy  ! 
Before  I  understood  this  place 
Appointed  for  my  second  race. 
Or  taught  my  soul  to  fancy  aught 
But  a  white  celestial  thought : 
When  yet  I  had  not  walk'd  above 
A  mile  or  two  from  my  first  Love, 
And  looking  back,  at  that  short  space, 
Could  see  a  glimpse  of  His  bright  face  : 
When  on  some  gilded  cloud  or  flower 
My  gazing  soiil  would  dwell  an  hour, 
And  in  those,  weaker  glories  spy 
Some  shadows  of  eternity  : 
Before  I  taught  my  tongue  to  wound 
My  Conscience  with  a  sinful  sound, 
Or  had  the  black  art  to  dispense 
A  several  sin  to  ev'ry  sense, 
But  felt  through  all  this  fleshly  dress 
Bright  shoots  of  everlastingness. 

O  how  I  long  to  travel  back, 
And  tread  again  that  ancient  track  ! 
That  I  might  once  more  reach  that  plain 
Where  first  I  left  my  glorious  train  ; 
From  whence  th'  enlighten'd  spirit  sees 
That  shady  City  of  Palm-trees  ! 
But  ah  !  my  soul  with  too  much  stay 
Is  drunk,  and  staggers  in  the  way  ! 
Some  men  a  forward  motion  love, 
But  I  by  backward  steps  would  move  ; 
And  when  this  dust  falls  to  the  urn, 
In  that  state  I  came,  return. 

HENRY  VAUGIJAN  (1621-1695). 

I  include  this  poem,  although  it  is  in  the  anthologies,  because  from  my 
own  experience  a  young  reader  will  not  see  its  beauty  without  some  words 
of  explanation.  It  is  the  precursor  of  the  greatest  ode  ever  written,  Words- 


204  POPE— BROWNING 

worth's  Ode  on  Intimations  of  Immortality  from  Recollections  of  Early  Child- 
hood.    Wordsworth,  Vaughan,  and  many  others  believe  that  we  had  a 
separate  existence  before  we  came  into  this  world  (and  there  is  much  in 
the  experience  of  each  of  us  to  warrant  that  belief).     Wordsworth  says  : 
Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting ; 
The  Soul  that  rises  with  us,  our  life's  Star, 
Hath  had  elsewhere  its  setting, 
And  cometh  from  afar. 

But  in  order  to  appreciate  either  Wordsworth's  or  Vaughan's  poem 
it  is  not  necessary  to  have  this  belief  in  a  past  separate  existence — it  is 
enough  to  realize  that 

Trailing  clouds  of  glory  do  we  come 
From  God,  who  is  our  home. 


ONE  may  see  the  small  value  God  has  for  riches  by  the  people 
He  gives  them  to. 

ALEXANDER  POPE. 


THERE'S  a  fancy  some  lean  to  and  others  hate — 
That,  when  this  life  is  ended,  begins 
New  work  for  the  soul  in  another  state, 
Where  it  strives  and  gets  weary,  loses  and  wins  : 
Where  the  strong  and  the  weak,  this  world's  congeries, 
Repeat  in  large  what  they  practised  in  small, 
Through  life  after  life  in  unlimited  series  ; 
Only  the  scale's  to  be  changed,  that's  all. 

Yet  I  hardly  know.     When  a  soul  has  seen 

By  the  means  of  Evil  that  Good  is  best, 

And,  through  earth  and  its  noise,  what  is  heaven's  serene, — 

When  our  faith  in  the  same  has  stood  the  test — 

Why,  the  child  grown  man,  you  burn  the  rod, 

The'  uses  of  labour  are  surely  done  ; 

There  remaineth  a  rest  for  the  people  of  God  : 

And  I  have  had  troubles  enough,  for  one. 

R.  BROWNING 
(Old  Pictures  in  Florence). 

Browning  in  his  last  poem,  the  well-known  "  Epilogue,"  speaks  with 
another  voice.  He  wishes  his  friends  to  think  of  him  after  death  as  he 
was  when  alive  : — 


BOREHAM— SPENSER  205 

One  who  never  turned  his  back  but  marched  breast-forward.    . 
Held  we  fall  to  rise,  are  baffled  to  fight  better, 
Sleep  to  wake. 

No,  at  noonday  in  the  bustle  of  man's  work-time 

Greet  the  unseen  with  a  cheer  ! 

Bid  him  forward,  breast  and  back  as  either  should  be, 
"  Strive  and  thrive  I  "  cry,  "  Speed, — fight  on,  fare  ever, 

There  as  here  !  " 

F.  W.  H.  Myers  wrote  :— 

We  need  a  summons  to  no  houri-haunted  paradise,  no  passionless 
contemplation,  no  monotony  of  prayer  and  praise ;  but  to  endless 
advance  by  endless  effort,  and,  if  need  be,  by  endless  pain.  Be  it 
mine,  then,  to  plunge  among  the  unknown  Destinies — to  dare  and  still 
to  dare ! 

Emerson's  heaven  also  was 

Built  of  furtherance  and  pursuing, 
Not  of  spent  deeds,  but  of  doing. 

("  Threnody.") 


IN  life,  I^ove  comes  first.  Indeed,  we  only  come  because 
Love  calls  for  us.  We  find  it  waiting  with  outstretched  arms 
on  arrival.  I/ove  is  the  beginning  of  everything. 

F.  W.  BOREHAM 

(Faces   in    the   Fire}. 


OUR  daies  are  full  of  dolor  and  disease, 
Our  life  afflicted  with  incessant  paine, 
That  nought  on  earth  may  lessen  or  appease, 
Why  then  should  I  desire  here  to  remaine  ? 
Or  why  should  he  that  loves  me,  sorie  bee 
For  my  deliverence,  or  at  all  complaine 
My  good  to  hear,  and  toward  joyes  to  see  ? 

EDMUND   SPENSER 

(Daphnaidd). 
Toward,  "  approaching." 


My  closing  remark  is  as  to  avoiding  debates  that  are  in  their 
very  nature  interminable.  .  .  .  There  is  a  certain  intensity  of 
emotion,  interest,  bias  or  prejudice  if  you  will,  that  can  neither 


206  BAIN— BACON 

reason  nor  be  reasoned  with.  On  the  purely  intellectual  side, 
the  disqualifying  circiunstances  are  complexity  and  vagueness. 
If  a  topic  necessarily  hauls  in  numerous  other  topics  of  difficulty, 
the  essay  may  do  something  for  it,  but  not  the  debate.  \Yorst 
of  all  is  the  presence  of  several  large,  ill-defined,  and  unsettled 
terms.  A  not  unfrequent  case  is  a  combination  of  the  several 
defects,  each,  perhaps,  in  a  small  degree.  A  tinge  of  predilection 
or  party,  a  double  or  triple  complication  of  doctrines,  and  one 
or  two  hazy  terms  will  make  a  debate  that  is  pretty  sure  to  end 
as  it  began.  Thus  it  is  that  a  question,  plausible  to  appearance, 
may  contain  within  it  capacities  of  misunderstanding,  cross- 
purposes,  and  pointless  issues,  sufficient  to  occupy  the  long 
night  of  Pandemonium,  or  beguile  the  journey  to  the  nearest 
fixed  star. 

ALEXANDER  BAIN 
(Contemporary  Review,  April,    1877). 

From  an  address  to  the  Edinburgh  University  Philosophical  Society. 


DIOGENES,  seeing  Neptune's  temple  with  votive  pictures  of 
those  saved  from  wreck,  says.  "  Yea,  but  where  are  they  painted, 
that  have  been  drowned  ?  " 

BACON. 


THE  BELLE  OF  THE  BALL-ROOM 

I  SAW  her  at  the  County  Ball : 

There,  when  the  sounds  of  flute  and  fiddle 
Gave  signal  sweet  in  that  old  hall 

Of  hands  across  and  down  the  middle, 
Hers  was  the  subtlest  spell  by  far 

Of  all  that  set  young  hearts  romancing  ; 
She  was  our  queen,  our  rose,  our  star  ; 

And  then  she  danced — O  Heaven,  her  dancing 

Through  sunny  May,  through  sultry  June, 

I  loved  her  with  a  love  eternal ; 
I  spoke  her  praises  to  the  moon, 

I  wrote  them  to  the  Sunday  Journal  : 
My  mother  laugh 'd  :  I  soon  found  out 

That  ancient  ladies  have  no  feeling  ; 
My  father  frown'd  :  but  how  should  gout 

See  any  happiness  in  kneeling  ?  .  .  .  - 


PRAED— I,II,I<Y  207 

She  smiled  on  many,  just  for  fun, — 

I  knew  that  there  was  nothing  in  it ; 
I  was  the  first — the  only  one 

Her  heart  had  thought  of  for  a  minute. — 
I  knew  it,  for  she  told  me  so, 

In  phrase  which  was  divinely  moulded  ; 
She  wrote  a  charming  hand, — and  oh  ! 

How  sweetly  all  her  notes  were  folded  ! 


We  parted  ;  months  and  years  roll'd  by 

We  met  again  four  summers  after  : 
Our  parting  was  all  sob  and  sigh  ; 

Our  meeting  was  all  mirth  and  laughter  : 
For  in  my  heart's  most  secret  cell 

There  had  been  many  other  lodgers  ; 
And  she  was  not  the  ball-room's  Belle, 

But  only — Mrs.  Something  Rogers  ! 

W.  M.  PRAED. 


A  CANON  of  my  own  in  judging  verses  is  that  no  man  has  a 
right  to  put  into  metre  what  he  can  as  well  say  out  of  metre.  To 
which  I  may  add,  as  a  corollary,  that  a  fortiore  he  has  no  right 
to  put  into  metre  what  he  can  better  say  out  of  metre. 

W.  S.  LiU.Y 
(Essay  on  George  Eliot). 


AUJOURD'HUI,  ce  qui  ne  vaut  pas  la  peine  d'etre  dit,  on  le 

chante. 

(Now-a-days  when  a  thing  is  not  worth  saying  they  sing  it — i.e.  put  it  in 

a  song.) 

BEAUMARCHAIS. 
(Le  Barbier  de  Seville,  Act  I.  Sc.  I.) 


I  DO  not  know  whether  1  gave  you  at  any  time  the  details  of 
my  work  here,  or  the  principles  upon  which  I  have  been  proceeding 
....  Some  of  the  work  set  down  includes  Ancient  Ethics — 
which  is  almost  entirely  grossly  wrong  and  great  rubbish  also. 
This  part  I  have  persistently  refused  to  get  Up,  not  because  I 
disliked  it,  but  because  it  is  decidedly  injurious  to  warp  and 


208  HODGSON 

twist  the  brain  by  impressing  it  with  wrong  thoughts  and  systems 
— just  as  it  would  be  insane  in  the  polisher  of  a  mirror  to  think  it 
would  reflect  the  external  world  more  truly,  if  he  gave  it  a  dint 
here,  a  scratch  there,  a  bulge  in  another  place,  and  so  forth. 
It  would  take  me  too  long  to  describe  the  details.  Suffice  it  to 
say  that  one  of  the  examiners  in  Mental  Philosophy  and  in  Moral 
and  Political  Philosophy  is  an  old,  blind  (literally)  man  of  the  old 
school,  who  gave  a  very  abnormally  large  amount  of  questions 
relating  to  Ancient  Ethics,  and  an  abnormally  large  amount 
to  the  early  part  of  English  Ethics — leaving  hardly  any  marks 
to  be  scored  by  thorough  understanding  and  ability  to  use  the 
principles  of  the  subjects. 

The  consequence  was  that  those,  who  had  crammed  up  the 
earlier  text-books  and  could  reproduce  them,  had  an  enormous 
advantage.  This  old  fogey  moreover  is  strongly  anti-Spencerian. 
Indeed  I  heard  that  he  had  objected  to  my  answers  because 
"  there  was  too  much  of  Spencer  and  myself  !  "  So  that  instead 
of  criticism  and  originality,  he  avowedly  preferred  mere  repro- 
duction, a  good  example  of  the  slavishness  of  that  method  of 
examination  predominant  mostly,  which,  as  Spencer  wrote 
to  me  some  time  ago,  is  devised  for  testing  a  man's  "  power 
of  acquisition  instead  of  using  that  which  has  been  acquired." 
RICHARD  HODGSON  (1855-1905). 
(Letter,  Dec.,  1881). 

This  letter  was  written  to  me  from  Cambridge,  when  Hodgson  (see 
Preface)  had  found  his  immediate  prospects  blasted  by  the  results  of  the 
Moral  Science  Tripos.  No  one  was  placed  in  the  First  Class  and  he 
(although  at  the  head  of  the  Tripos)  only  in  the  Second  Class.  This  meant 
that  he  had  no  hope  of  a  Fellowship,  which  would  have  enabled  him  to  go 
on  with  original  work  in  philosophy,  and  he  would  have  to  employ  his 
time  in  earning  a  livelihood.  Added  to  this  was  the  cruel  disappointment 
to  his  family  and  friends. 

Hodgson  was  one  of  the  most  gifted  men  that  Australia  has  produced. 
He  had  completed  his  M.A.  and  LL.D.  courses  in  Melbourne  by  1877, 
when  he  was  twenty-two  years  of  age,  and  then,  discarding  the  profession 
of  the  law,  left  for  Cambridge  to  read  Mental  and  Moral  Science.  While 
still  an  undergraduate  there  he  had  written  an  article  in  reply  to  T.  H. 
Green,  and  submitted  it  to  Herbert  Spencer,  who  highly  approved  of  it, 
and  sent  it  to  the  Contemporary.  However,  as  stated  above,  Hodgson's 
immediate  future  depended  on  the  result  of  the  examination.  (He  was  at 
the  time  preparing  one  of  the  articles  he  contributed  to  Mind,  and  had  in 
view  further  original  work.) 

When  the  result  of  the  Tripos  appeared,  Henry  Sidgwick  and  Venn 
who  were  then  Lecturers  and  by  far  the  best  Moral  Science  men  in  Cam- 
bridge, came  to  sympathize  with  Hodgson,  on  the  unfair  result.  They 
urged  him  to  go  to  Germany  so  that  he  might  acquire  that  perfect 
command  of  the  German  language  which  was  necessary  for  his  philosophic 
work.  On  learning  that  he  was  not  in  a  position  to  do  this,  Sidgwick 


209 

insisted — as  he  said,  "  in  the  interests  of  philosophy  " — on  defraying  the 
whole  of  the  expenses  of  Hodgson's  residence  in  Germany.  As  he  insisted 
strongly,  Hodgson  accepted  the  offer,  and  went  to  Jena,  armed  with  a  very 
flattering  letter  of  introduction  from  Herbert  Spencer  to  Haeckel. 

Almost  immediately  after  his  return  from  Germany  the  Society  for 
Psychical  Research  was  founded,  and  Hodgson  joined  it.  He  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  work  of  this  Society  was  more  important  than  any 
other  study,  while  probably  it  would  also  be  of  fundamental  assistance 
to  philosophy.  He  went  out  to  India  in  1884,  and  thoroughly  exposed 
Madame  Blavatsky  and  her  "  Theosophy,"  and,  from  about  1886,  devoted 
the  rest  of  his  life  to  Psychical  Research.  Although  maintaining  his 
reading  and  his  intimacy  with  Henry  Sidgwick,  William  James,  and  others, 
his  services  practically  became  lost  to  philosophy.  This,  however,  does 
not  affect  the  important  fact  illustrated  by  the  Tripos  incident.  We 
learn  what  ineptitude  can  exist  in  a  great  university,  and  what  grave  results 
must  necessarily  follow  therefrom. 

Although  Hodgson  was  writing  under  stress  of  a  grievous  calamity 
(yet  with  a  dauntless  heart — see  verse  on  Dedication  page),  his  remarks 
on  Ancient  Ethics  are  not,  in  my  opinion,  exaggerated. 

Herbert  Spencer's  remark  to  Hodgson  about  examinations  may  also 
be  noted. 


Prometheus.     AND  thou,  O  Mother  Earth  ! 

Earth.     I  hear,  I  feel 

Thy  lips  are  on  me,  and  their  touch  runs  down 
Even  to  the  adamantine  central  gloom 
Along  these  marble  nerves  ;  'tis -life,  'tis  joy, 
And,  through  my  withered,  old,  and  icy  frame 
The  warmth  of  an  immortal  youth  shoots  down 
Circling.     Henceforth  the  many  children  fair 
Folded  in  my  sustaining  arms  ;  all  plants, 
And  creeping  forms,  and  insects  rainbow-winged, 
And  birds,  and  beasts,  and  fish,  and  human  shapes. 
Which  drew  disease  and  pain  from  my  wan  bosom 
Draining  the  poison  of  despair,  shall  take 
And  interchange  sweet  nutriment. 

SHKU,EY 
(Prometheus    Unbound,   III,   3) 

In  Shelley's  great  poem,  Prometheus  is  not  merely  the  Titan  who, 
having  stolen  fire  from  heaven  to  benefit  man,  was  chained  to  a  pillar  while 
an  eagle  tore  at  his  vitals,  he  is  the  spirit  of  humanity.  Man  has  (through 
superstition)  given  the  god,  Zeus,  great  powers  which  he  uses  to  enslave 
and  oppress  man's  own  mind  and  body.  Ultimately  the  god  is  overthrown, 
Prometheus,  the  spirit  of  man,  is  released,  and  the  world  enters  upon  its 
progress  towards  perfection. 

This  and  the  following  quotations  are  from  a  collection  of  referencei  to 
Mother-Earth. 


210  COLERIDGE  AND  OTHERS 

SAY,  mysterious  Earth  !  O  say,  great  mother  and  goddess, 
Was  it  not  well  with  thee  then,  when  first  thy  lap  was  ungirdled, 
Thy  lap  to  the  genial  Heaven,  the  day  that  he  wooed  thee  and 

won  thee  !  .  .  . 
Myriad  myriads  of  lives  teemed  forth  from  the  mighty  embrace- 

ment. 
Thousand-fold   tribes   of   dwellers,    impelled   by   thousand-fold 

instincts, 
Filled,  as  a  dream,  the  wide  waters  ;  the  rivers  sang  on  their 

channels ; 
Laughed  on  their  shores  the  wide  seas  ;   the  yearning  ocean 

swelled  upward  ; 
Young  hie  lowed   through   the  meadows,  the  woods,  and    the 

echoing  mountains, 
Wandered     bleating     in    valleys,    and   warbled   on   blossoming 

branches. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE 

(Hymn  to  the  Earth}. 
An  imitation  of  Stolberg's  Hymne  an  die  Erie, 


FROM  my  wings  are  shaken  the  dews  that  waken 

The  sweet  buds-  every  one, 
When  rocked  to  rest  on  their  mother's  breast, 
As  she  dances  about  the  sun. 

SHELLEY 

(The   Cloud}. 


FOR  Nature  ever  faithful  is 

To  such  as  trust  her  faithfulness. 

When  the  forest  shall  mislead  me, 

When  the  night  and  morning  lie, 

When  sea  and  land  refuse  to  feed  me, 

'Twill  be  time  enough  to  die. 

Then  will  yet  my  mother  yield 

A  pillow  in  her  greenest  field 

Nor  the  June  flowers  scorn  to  cover 

The  clay  of  their  departed  lover. 

EMERSON 
(Woodnotes). 


c 


WORDSWORTH  AND  OTHERS 

LONG  have  I  loved  what  I  behold. 
The  night  that  calms,  the  day  that  cheers  ; 
The  common  growth  of  mother-earth 
Suffices  me — her  tears,  her  mirth, 
Her  humblest  mirth  and  tears. 

WORDSWORTH 
(Peter  Bell). 


SO  mayst  thou  live,   till  like  ripe  fruit  thou  drop 
Into  thy  mother's  lap. 

MII/TON 

(Paradise  Lost,  XI,  535). 


SONG  OF  PROSERPINE;. 

SACRED  Goddess,  Mother  Earth 
Thou  from  whose  immortal  bosom 

Gods,  and  men,  and  beasts  have  birth, 
Leaf  and  blade,  and  bud  and  blossom, 

Breathe  thine  influence  most  divine 

On  thine  own  child,  Proserpine. 

If  with  mists  of  evening  dew 

Thou  dost  nourish  these  young  flowers 
Till  they  grow,  in  scent  and  hue, 

Fairest  children  of  the  Hours, 
Breathe  thine  influence  most  divine 
On  thine  own  child,  Proserpine. 


Proserpine,  daughter  of  Ceres,  whilst  gathering  flowers  with  her  play- 
mates at  Enna  in  Sicily,  was  carried  off  by  Pluto,  also  called  Dis,  god  of 
the  dead.  (For  two-thirds,  or,  according  to  later  writers,  one-half  of 
each  year,  she  returns  to  the  earth,  bringing  spring  and  summer.) 

That   fair   field 

Of  Enna,  where  Proserpine  gathering  flowers, 
Herself  a  fairer  flower,  by  gloomy  Dis 
Was  gathered  ;  which  cost  Ceres  all  that  pain 
To  seek  her  through  the  \vorid. 

(Paradise  Lost,  IV,  269). 


MACDONALD  AND  OTHERvS 

AND  ...  the  rich  winds  blow, 

And  .  .  .  the  waters  go, 

And  the  birds  for  joy,  and  the  trees  for  prayer, 

Bowing  their  heads  in  the  sunny  air  .  .  . 

All  make  a  music,  gentle  and  strong, 

Bound  by  the  heart  into  one  sweet  song  ; 

And  amidst  them  all,  the  mother  Earth 

Sits  with  the  children  of  her  birth  .  .  . 

Go  forth  to  her  from  the  dark  and  the  dust 

And  weep  beside  her,  if  weep  thou  must ; 

If  she  may  not  hold  thee  to  her  breast, 

Like  a  weary  infant,  that  cries  for  rest ; 

At  least  she  will  press  thee  to  her  knee 

And  tell  a  low,  sweet  tale  to  thee, 

Till  the  hue  to  thy  cheek,  and  the  light  to  thine  eye 

Strength  to  thy  limbs,  and  courage  high 

To  thy  fainting  heart  return  amain. 

G.    MACDONAU) 

(Phantasies). 
Hold  thee  to  her  breast,  give  rest  in  death. 


NE  deeth,  alias  ;  ne  wol  nat  han  my  life  ;  will  not  take 

Thus  walke  I,  lyk  a  restelees  caityf,  restless   wretch 

And  on  the  ground,  which  is  my  modres  gate,     mother's 

I  knokke  with  my  staf,  both  erly  and  late, 

And  seye,  "  leve  moder,  leet  me  in  !  say,  "  Dear  mother 

Lo,  how  I  vanish,  flesh,  and  blood,  and  skin  !       waste  away  " 

Alias  !  whan  shul  my  bones  be  at  reste  ?  " 

CHAUCER  (1340-1400). 

(The  Pardoner's  Tale}. 


a  shadow  thrown 
Softly  and  lightly  from  a  passing  cloud, 
Death  fell  upon  him,  while  reclined  he  lay 
For  noontide  solace  on  the  summer  grass. 
The  warm  lap  of  his  mother  earth. 

WORDSWORTH 
(Excursion   VII,    286). 


MEREDITH— BROWNING  213 

AND  O  green  bounteous  Earth  ! 
Bacchante  Mother  !  stern  to  those 
Who  live  not  in  thy  heart  of  mirth  ; 
Death  shall  I  shrink  from,  loving  thee  ? 
Into  the  breast  that  gives  the  rose 
Shall  I  with  shuddering  fall  ? 

G.  MEREDITH 
(Ode  to  the  Spirit  of  Earth  in  Autumn}. 

THE  MUSICAL  INSTRUMENT 

HE  tore  out  a  reed,  the  great  god  Pan, 

From  the  deep  cool  bed  of  the  river  : 
The  limpid  water  turbidly  ran, 
And  the  broken  lilies  a-dying  lay, 
And  the  dragon-fly  had  fled  away, 

Ere  he  brought  it  out  of  the  river. 

High  on  the  shore  sat  the  great  god  Pan, 

While  turbidly  flowed  the  river  ; 
And  hacked  and  hewed  as  a  great  god  can, 
With  his  hard  bleak  steel  at  the  patient  reed, 
Till  there  was  not  a  sign  of  a  leaf  indeed 

To  prove  it  fresh  from  the  river.  .  .  . 

"  This  is  the  way,"  laughed  the  great  god  Pan, 
("  lyaughed  while  he  sat  by  the  river,) 
"  The  only  way,  since  gods  began 
To  make  sweet  music,  they  could  succeed." 
Then,  dropping  his  mouth  to  a  hole  in  the  reed, 
He  blew  in  power  by  the  river. 

Sweet,  sweet,  sweet,  O  Pan  ! 

Piercing  sweet  by  the  river  ! 
Blinding  sweet,  O  great  god  Pan  ! 
The  sun  on  the  hill  forgot  to  die, 
And  the  lilies  revived,  and  the  dragon-fly 

Came  back  to  dream  on  the  river. 

Yet  half  a  beast  is  the  great  god  Pan, 

To  laugh  as  he  sits  by  the  river, 
Making  a  poet  out  of  a  man  : 
The  true  gods  sigh  for  the  cost  and  pain, — 
For  the  reed  which  grows  nevermore  again 

As  a  reed  with  the  reeds  in  the  river. 

E.  B,  BROWNING 


214  NIEBUHR  AND  OTHERS 

THERE  is  little  merit  in  inventing  a  happy  idea,  or  attractive 
situation,  so  long  as  it  is  only  the  author's  voice  which  we  hear. 
As  a  being  whom  we  have  called  into  life  by  magic  arts,  as  soon 
as  it  has  received  existence,  acts  independently  of  the  master's 
impulse,  so  the  poet  creates  his  persons,  and  then  watches  and 
relates  what  they  do  and  say.  Such  creation  is  poetry  in  the 
literal  sense  of  the  term,  and  its  possibility  is  an  unfathomable 
enigma.  The  gushing  fullness  of  speech  belongs  to  the  poet, 
and  it  flows  from  the  lips  of  each  of  his  magic  beings  in  the 
thoughts  and  words  peculiar  to  its  nature. 

NIEBUHR 

(Letters,  &c.,  Vol.  Ill,  196). 


POETRY  is  not  like  reasoning,  a  power  to  be  exerted  according 
to  the  determination  of  the  will.  A  man  cannot  say,  ' '  I  will 
compose  poetry."  The  greatest  poet  even  cannot  say  it ;  for 
the  mind  in  creation  is  as  a  fading  coal,  which  some  invisible 
influence,  like  an  inconstant  wind,  awakens  to  transitory  bright- 
ness ;  this  power  arises  from  within,  like  the  colour  of  a  flower 
which  fades  and  changes  as  it  is  developed,  and  the  conscious 
portions  of  our  nature  are  unprophetic  either  of  its  approach  or  its 
departure.  Could  this  influence  be  durable  in  its  original 
purity  and  force,  it  is  impossible  to  predict  the  greatness  of  the 
results ;  but.,  when  composition  begins,  inspiration  is  already 
on  the  decline,  and  the  most  glorious  poetry  that  has  ever  been 
communicated  to  the  world  is  probably  a  feeble  shadow  of  the 
original  conceptions  of  the  poet. 


(A  Defence  of  Poetry}. 

WHO   would   loose, 

Though  full  of  pain,  this  intellectual  being, 
Those  thoughts  that  wander  through  eternity, 
To  perish  rather,  swallowed  up  and  lost 
In  the  wide  womb  of  uncreated  night  ? 

Mn/TON 

(Paradise  Lost  ii.,  146) 
:  Loose  " — by  committing  suicide. 


WHEN  the  white  block  of  marble  shines  so  solid  and  so  costly, 
who  remembers  that  it  was  once  made  up  of  decaying  shell 
and  rotting  bones  and  millions  of  dying  insect-lives,  pressed 
to  ashes  ere  the  rare  stone  was  ? 

(Chandos). 


QUID  A— BUCHANAN  315 

THE  madness  that  starves  and  is  silent  for  an  idea  is  an  insanity, 
scouted  by  the  world  and  the  gods.  For  it  is  an  insanity  unfruit- 
ful— except  to  the  future.  And  for  the  future,  who  cares — save 
those  madmen  themselves  ? 


.  .  .  THE)  gods  that  most  of  all  have  pity  on  man,  the  gods 
of  the  Night  and  of  the  Grave. 


OUR  eyes  are  set  to  the  light,  but  our  feet  are  fixed  in  the  mire. 

(Folle-Farine). 


"  IF  the  cucumber  be  bitter,  throw  it  away,"  says  Antoninus  : 

do   the   same   with   a   thought There   is   no   cucumber 

so  heavy  that  one  cannot  throw  it  over  some  wall. 

OUIDA 

(Tricotrin). 

Antoninus,  120-180  A.D.,  the  Roman  emperor  and  Stoic  philosopher, 
usually  known  by  his  first  two  names  Marcus  Aurelius,  is  the  author  of  the 
well-known  Meditations.  The  quotation  is  from  Bk.  VIII.,  "  The  gourd 
is  bitter ;  drop  it,  then  !  There  are  brambles  in  the  path  ;  then  turn  aside  ! 
It  is  enough.  Do  not  go  on  to  argue,  Why  pray  have  these  things  a  place 
in  the  world  T  "  etc. 

These  quotations  from  Ouida  may  serve  to  illustrate  the  saying  of 
Pliny  the  Elder,  "  No  book  is  so  bad  but  some  good  may  be  got  out  of  it  " 
(Pliny's  Letters,  III.,  10) — a  saying  which  was  no  doubt  true  until  printing 
let  loose  on  the  world  such  a  multitude  of  worthless  writers. 


WHEN  WE  AU,  ARE  ASLEEP 

WHEN  He  returns,  and  finds  the  World  so  drear— 
All  sleeping, — young  and  old,  unfair  and  fair, 

Will  He  stoop  down  and  whisper  in  each  ear, 
"  Awaken  !  "  or  for  pity's  sake  forbear, — 
Saying,  "  How  shall  I  meet  their  frozen  stare 


216  BUCHANAN— SWINBURNE; 

Of  wonder,  and  their  eyes  so  full  of  fear  ? 

How  shall  I  comfort  them  in  their  despair, 
If  they  cry  out,  '  Too  late  !  let  us  sleep  here  '  ?  " 
Perchance  He  will  not  wake  us  up,  but  when 

He  sees  us  look  so  happy  in  our  rest, 
Will  murmur,  "  Poor  dead  women  and  dead  men  ! 

Dire  was  their  doom,  and  weary  was  their  quest. 
Wherefore  awake  them  into  life  again  ? 

I^et  them  sleep  on  untroubled — it  is  best." 

R.  BUCHANAN. 


CHORUS 

BEFORE  the  beginning  of  years 

There  came  to  the  making  of  man 
Time,  with  a  gift  of  tears  ; 

Grief,  with  a  glass  that  ran  ; 
Pleasure,  with  pain  for  leaven  ; 

Summer,  with  flowers  that  fell ; 
Remembrance  fallen  from  heaven, 

And  madness  risen  from  hell ; 
Strength  without  hands  to  sinite  ; 

I/ove  that  endures  for  a  breath  ; 
Night,  the 'shadow  of  light, 

And  life,  the  shadow  of  death. 

And  the  high  gods  took  in  hand 

Fire,  and  the  falling  of  tears, 
And  a  measure  of  sliding  sand 

From  under  the  feet  of  the  years  ; 
And  froth  and  drift  of  the  sea  ; 

And  dust  of  the  labouring  earth  ; 
And  bodies  of  things  to  be 

In  the  houses  of  death  and  of  birth  ; 
And  wrought  with  weeping  and  laughter, 

And  fashioned  with  loathing  and  love, 
With  life  before  and  after 

And  death  beneath  and  above, 
For  a  day  and  a  night  and  a  morrow, 

That  his  strength  might  endure  for  a  span 
With  travail  and  heavy  sorrow, 

The  holy  spirit  of  man. 


SWINBURNE— ODYSSEY  2 1 7 

From  the  winds  of  the  north  and  the  south 

They  gathered  as  unto  strife  ; 
They  breathed  upon  his  mouth, 

They  rilled  his  body  with  life  ; 
Eyesight  and  speech  they  wrought 

For  the  veils  of  the  soul  therein, 
A  time  for  labour  and  thought, 

A  time  to  serve  and  to  sin  ; 
They  gave  him  light  in  his  ways, 

And  love,  and  a  space  for  delight, 
And  beauty  and  length  of  days, 

And  night,  and  sleep  in  the  night. 
His  speech  is  a  burning  fire  ; 

With  his  lips  he  travaileth  ; 
In  his  heart  is  a  blind  desire, 

In  his  eyes  foreknowledge  of  death  , 
He  weaves,  and  is  clothed  with  derision  ; 

Sows,  and  he  shall  not  reap  ; 
His  life  is  a  watch  or  a  vision 

Between  a  sleep  and  a  sleep. 

SWINBURNE 

(Atalanta  in  Calydon) 


SHE  (the  ship  of  Odysseus)  came  to  the  limits  of  the  world, 
to  the  deep  flowing  Oceanus.  There  is  the  land  and  the  city 
of  the  Cimmerians,  shrouded  in  mist  and  cloud,  and  never  does 
the  shining  sun  look  down  on  them  with  his  rays,  neither  when  he 
climbs  up  the  starry  heavens,  nor  when  again  he  turns  earthward 
from  the  firmament,  but  deadly  night  is  outspread  over  miserable 
mortals.  Thither  we  came  and  ran  the  ship  ashore  and  took 
out  the  sheep  ;  but  for  our  part  we  held  on  our  way  along  the 
stream  of  Oceanus,  till  we  came  to  the  place  which  Circe  had 
declared  to  us. 

There  Perimedes  and  Euryiochus  held  the  victims,  but  I  drew 
my  sharp  sword  from  my  thigh,  and  dug  a  pit,  as  it  were  a  cubit 
in  length  and  breadth,  and  about  it  poured  a  drink-offering 
to  all  the  dead,  first  with  mead  and  thereafter  with  sweet  wine 

and  for  the  third  time  with  water When  I  had  besought 

the  tribes  of  the  dead  with  vows  and  prayers,  I  took  the  sheep  and 
cut  their  throats  over  the  trench,  and  the  dark  blood  flowed  forth, 
and  lo.  the  spirits  of  the  dead  that  be  departed  gathered  them 
from  out  of  Erebus.  Brides  and  youths  unwed,  and  old  men 
of  many  and  evil  days,  and  tender  maidens  with  griefs  yet  fresh 


218  ODYSSEY— BROWNING 

at  heart ;  and  many  there  were,  wounded  with  bronze-shod 
spears,  men  slain  in  fight  with  their  bloody  mail  about  them. 
And  these  many  ghosts  nocked  together  from  every  side  about 
the  trench  with  a  wondrous  cry,  and  pale  fear  gat  hold  on  me. 
...  I  drew  the  sharp  sword  from  my  thigh  and  sat  there,  suffering 
not  the  strengthless  heads  of  the  dead  to  draw  nigh  to  the  blood, 
ere  I  had  word  of  Teiresias 

Anon  came  up  the  soul  of  my  mother  dead,  Anticleia,  the 
daughter  of  Autolycus,  the  great-hearted,  whom  I  left  alive 
when  I  departed  for  sacred  Ilios.  At  the  sight  of  her  I  wept, 
and  was  moved  with  compassion,  yet  even  so,  for  all  my  sore 
grief,  I  suffered  her  not  to  draw  nigh  to  the  blood,  ere  I  had 
word  of  Teiresias. 

Anon  came  the  soul  of  Theban  Teiresias,  with  a  golden  sceptre 
in  his  hand,  and  he  knew  me  and  spake  unto  me  :  "  Son  of  Laertes 
of  the  seed  of  Zeus,  Odysseus  of  many  devices,  what  seekest 
thc-u  now,  wretched  man — wherefore  hast  thou  left  the  sunlight 
and  come  hither  to  behold  the  dead  and  a  land  desolate  of  joy  ? 
Nay,  hold  off  from  the  ditch  and  draw  back  thy  sharp  sword, 
that  I  may  drink  of  the  blood  and  tell  thee  sooth."  So  spake  he, 
and  I  put  up  my  silver-studded  sword  into  the  sheath,  and 
when  he  had  drunk  the  dark  blood,  even  then  did  the  noble 

seer  speak  unto  me 

ODYSSEY,  Bk.  XI. 
(Butcher  &  Lang's  translation}. 

In  this  weird  scene  Odysseus  is  summoning  the  shade  of  Teiresias 
from  the  under-world.  He  has  with  his  sword  to  keep  off  the  host  of  spirits, 
including  that  of  his  own  mother,  whom  the  spilt  blood  has  attracted — 
and  the  hero  is  himself  terrified  at  the  awful  spectacle. 

What  adds  to  the  interest  of  such  a  passage  is  that  to  the  ancient  Greeks 
this  was  no  imaginary  picture  but  a  statement  of  actual  facts.  It  will 
be  observed  that  the  dead  live  in  a  dark  land,  "  desolate  of  joy." 

To  the  little-travelled  Greeks  the  ocean  was  a  river. 


FOR — see  your  cellarage  ! 

There  are  forty  barrels  with  Shakespeare's  brand 
Some  five  or  six  are  abroach  :  the  rest 
Stand  spigoted,  fauceted.     Try  and  test 
What  yourselves  call  best  of  the  very  best ! 

How  comes  it  that  still  untouched  they  stand  ? 
Why  don't  you  try  tap,  advance  a  stage 
With  the  rest  in  cellarage  ? 


BROWNING— SWINBURNE  219 

For — see  your  cellarage  ! 

There  are  four  big  butts  of  Milton's  brew, 
How  comes  it  you  make  old  drips  and  drops 
Do  duty,  and  there  devotion  stops  ? 
I<eave  such  an  abyss  of  malt  and  hops 

Embellied  in  biitts  which  bungs  still  glue  ? 
You  hate  your  bard  !     A  fig  for  your  rage  ! 
Free  him  from  cellarage  ! 

R.    BROWNING 
(Epilogue  to  Pacchiarotto  and  other  Poems]. 


THOUGH  the  seasons  of  man  full  of  losses 

Make  empty  the  years  full  of  youth, 
If  but  one  thing  be  constant  in  crosses, 

Change  lays  not  her  hand  upon  truth  ; 
Hopes  die,  and  their  tombs  are  for  token 

That  the  grief  as  the  joy  of  them  ends 
Ere  time  that  breaks  all  men  has  broken 

The  faith  between  friends. 

Though  the  many  lights  dwindle  to  one  light. 

There  is  help  if  the  heaven  has  one  ; 
Though  the  skies  be  discrowned  of  the  sunlight 

And  the  earth  dispossessed  of  the  sun, 
The}'  have  moonlight  and  sleep  for  repayment, 

When,  refreshed  as  a  bride  and  set  free, 
With  stars  and  sea-winds  in  her  raiment, 

Night  sinks  on  the  sea. 

SWINBURNE 
(Dedication,   1865). 

It  is  hardly  possible  for  a  younger  generation  to  realize  the  almost 
intoxicating  effect  produced  upon  us  by  Swinburne's  new  melodies. 
Although  the  Poems  and  Ballads  were  largely  erotic,  the  curious  fact  is 
that  we  were  too  much  carried  away  by  the  beauty  and  swing  of  his  verse 
to  trouble  about  the  sensual  element  in  it.  That  element  was  in  itself  an 
artificial  production  and  not  a  reflection  of  the  poet's  own  emotions,  for 
he  was  free  from  sensuality.  It  was  with  us  more  a  question  of  music. 
Swinburne  himself  preferred  a  musical  word  or  line  to  one  that  would  more 
aptly  express  his  meaning ;  and  in  the  "  Dedication,"  from  which  the 
above  verses  are  quoted,  several  lines  will  not  bear  analysis.  However, 
this  was  one  of  our  favourites  among  his  poems. 

O   daughters   of   dreams   and   of   stories 

That  life  is  not  wearied  of  yet, 
Faustine,  Fragoletta,  Dolores, 

Felise  and  Yolande  and  Juliette, 


SWINBURNE 

Shall  I  find  you  not  still,  shall  I  miss  you, 
When  sleep,  that  is  true  or  that  seems, 

Comes  back  to  me  hopeless  to  kiss  you, 
O  daughters  of  dreams  ? 

They  are  past  as  a  slumber  that  passes, 

As  the  dew  of  a  dawn  of  old  time  ; 
More  frail  than  the  shadows  on  glasses, 

More  fleet  than  a  wave  or  a  rhyme. 
As  the  waves  after  ebb  drawing  seaward, 

When  their  hollows  are  full  of  the  night, 
So  the  birds  that  flew  singing  to  me-ward 

Recede  out  of  sight. 


He  asks  that  his  wild  "  storm-birds  of  passion  "  may  find  a  home  in 
our  calmer  world  : — 

In  their  wings  though  the  sea-wind  yet  quivers, 

Will  you  spare  not  a  space  for  them  there 
Made  green  with  the  running  of  rivers 

And  gracious  with  temperate  air ; 
In  the  fields  and  the  turreted  cities, 

That  cover  from  sunshine  and  rain 
Fair  passions  and  bountiful  pities 

And  loves  without  stain  1 

In  a  land  of  clear  colours  and  stories, 

In  a  region  of  shadowless  hours, 
Where  earth  has  a  garment  of  glories 

And  a  murmur  of  musical  flowers  ; 
In  woods  where  the  spring  half  uncovers 

The  flush  of  her  amorous  face, 
By  the  waters  that  listen  for  lovers 

For  these  is  there  place  ? 

Though  the  world  of  your  hands  be  more  gracious 
And  lovelier  in  lordshii      '    '  ' 


Clothed  round  by  sweet  art  with  the  spacious 
Warm  heaven  of  her  imminent  wings, 

Let  them  enter,  unfledged  and  nigh  fainting, 
For  the  love  of  old  loves  and  lost  times  ; 

And  receive  in  your  palace  of  painting 
This  revel  of  rhymes. 


Then  come  the  final  verses  quoted  above.  These  are  somewhat  de- 
tached in  meaning  from  the  rest,  and  form  a  sort  of  Envoi :  "  Whatever 
changes  or  passes,  there  is  always  some  beautiful  thing  that  survives." 

As  might  be  expected  Swinburne  was  much  parodied  (and  indeed  in 
the  Heptalogia  and  in  the  poems  lately  published  he  parodied  himself). 
The  above  poem  has  been  cleverly  parodied  by  a  lawyer,  Sir  Frederick 
Pollock.  (Although  parodies  go  as  far  back  as  the  Fifth  Century  B.C. 


KINGSLEY— EMERSON  221 

I  know  of  no  other  lawyer  who,  qua  lawyer,  has  successfully  taken  a  hand 
in  the  game.)  In  his  parody  Pollock's  subject  was  the  great  changes  effected 
by  the  Judicature  Act,  when  the  old  Courts  of  Common  Law,  Chancery, 
and  others  were  consolidated  into  one  Supreme  Court,  and  the  various 
classes  of  business  assigned  to  different  "  Divisions."  Also  owing  to  changes 
in  procedure,  much  of  the  old  technical  learning  became  obsolete.  His 
last  verse  is  as  follows  (compare  with  the  second  verse  quoted  above) : 

Though  the  Courts  that  were  manifold  dwindle 

To  divers  Divisions  of  one, 
And  no  fire  from  your  face  may  rekindle 

The  light  of  old  learning  undone, 
We  have  suitors  and  briefs  for  our  payment, 

While,  so  long  as  a  Court  shall  hold  pleas, 
We  talk  moonshine  with  wigs  for  our  raiment, 

Not  sinking  the  fees. 


WULF  died,  as  he  had  lived,  a  heathen.  Placidia,  who  loved 
him  well,  as  she  loved  all  righteous  and  noble  souls,  had  succeeded 
once  in  persuading  him  to  accept  baptism.  Adolf  himself 
acted  as  one  of  his  sponsors  ;  and  the  old  warrior  was  hi  the  act 
of  stepping  into  the  font,  when  he  turned  suddenly  to  the  bishop 
and  asked,  '  Where  were  the  souls  of  his  heathen  ancestors  ?  ' 
"  In  hell,"  replied  the  worthy  prelate.  Wulf  drew  back  from 
the  font,  and  threw  his  bearskin  cloak  around  him  —  "  He  would 
prefer,  if  Adolf  had  no  objection,  to  go  to  his  own  people."  And 
so  he  died  unbaptized,  and  went  to  his  own  place. 

CHARGES 


(Hypatia) 


This  story  appears  in  several  old  chronicles  (Notes  and  Queries,  jtb  Ser.  X, 
33),  but  the  name  should  be  Radbod.  He  was  Duke  or  Chief  of  the  Frisians, 
and  the  episode  probably  occurred  in  Heligoland,  from  which  island  he 
ruled  his  people. 


I  AM  thankful  for  small  mercies.  I  compared  notes  with  one 
of  my  friends  who  expects  everything  of  the  universe,  and  is 
disappointed  when  anything  is  less  than  the  best ;  and  I  found 
that  I  begin  at  the  other  extreme,  expecting  nothing,  and  am 
always  full  of  thanks  for  moderate  goods.  ...  In  the  morning 


222  EMERSON  AND  OTHERS 

I  awake,  and  find  the  old  world,  wife,  babes  and  mother,  Concord 
and  Boston,  the  dear  old  spiritual  world,  and  even  the  dear  old 
devil  not  far  off.  If  we  will  take  the  good  we  find,  asking  no 
questions,  we  shall  have  heaping  measures.  The  great  gifts 
are  not  got  by  analysis.  Everything  good  is  on  the  highway. 

R.  W.  EMERSON 
(Essay  on  Experience). 


THE  bee  draws  forth  from  fruit  and  flower 
Sweet  dews,  that  swell  his  golden  dower  ; 
But  never  injures  by  his  kiss 
Those  who  have  made  him  rich  in  bliss. 

The  moth,  though  tortured  by  the  flame, 
Still  hovers  round  and  loves  the  same  : 
Nor  is  his  fond  attachment  less  : 

"  Alas  !  "  he  whispers,  "  can  it  be, 
Spite  of  my  ceaseless  tenderness, 

That  I  am  doomed  to  death  by  thee  ?  " 

AZY  EDDIN  EWKOGADESSI 
(L.  S.  Costello's  translation). 


A  PINE-TREE  stands  all  lonely 

On  a  northern  hill- top  bare. 
And,  wrapped  in  its  snowy  mantle, 

It  slumbers  peacefully  there. 

Its  dreams  are  of  a  palm-tree, 

Far-off  in  the  morning  land, 
Which  in  lone  silence  sorrows 

On  a  burning,  rocky  strand. 

HEINRICH  HEINE  (1797-1856) 


MANY  a  time 

At  evening,  when  the  earliest  stars  began 
To  move  along  the  edges  of  the  hills. 
Rising  or  setting,  would  he  stand  alone 
Beneath  the  trees  or  by  the  glimmering  lake. 


WORDSWORTH— CANNING  223 

.  .  .  Then  in  that  silence,  while  he  hung 
Listening,  a  gentle  shock  of  mild  surprise 
Has  carried  far  into  his  heart  the  voice 
Of  mountain  torrents  ;  or  the  visible  scene 
Would  enter  unawares  into  his  mind, 
With  all  its  solemn  imagery,  its  rocks, 
Its  woods,  and  that  uncertain  heaven,  received 
Into  the  bosom  of  the  steady  lake. 

WORDSWORTH 

(The  Prelude,   Bk.  V). 

THE  FRIEND  OF  HUMANITY  AND  THE  KNIFE 
GRINDER 

FRIEND   OF  HUMANITY. 

"  NEEDY  Knife-grinder  !  whither  are  you  going  ? 
Rough  is  the  road,  your  wheel  is  out  of  order  ; 
Bleak  blows  the  blast — your  hat  has  got  a  hole  in't, 
So  have  your  breeches  ! 

"  Weary  Knife-grinder  !  little  think  the  proud  ones, 
Who  in  their  coaches  roll  along  the  turnpike- 
-road,  what  hard  work  'tis  crying  all  day  '  Knives  and 
Scissors  to  grind  O  !  '  " 

"  Tell  me,  Knife-grinder,  how  }'ou  came  to  grind  knives  ? 
Did  some  rich  man  tyrannically  use  you  ? 
Was  it  the  squire  ?  or  parson  of  the  parish  ? 
Or  the  attorney  ? 

"  Was  it  the  squire,  for  killing  of  his  game  ?  or 
Covetous  parson,  for  his  tithes  distraining  ? 
Or  roguish  lawyer,  made  you  lose  your  little 
All  in  a  lawsuit  ? 

("  Have  you  not  read  the  '  Rights  of  Man,'  by  Tom  Paine  ?) 
Drops  of  compassion  tremble  on  my  eyelids, 
Ready  to  fall,  as  soon  as  you  have  told  your 
Pitiful  story." 

KNIFE-GRINDER. 

"  Story  !  God  bless  you  !  I  have  none  to  tell,  sir, 
Only  last  night  a-drinking  at  the  Chequers, 
This  poor  old  hat  and  breeches,  as  you  see,  were 
Torn  in  a  scuffle. 


224  CANNING— BROWNING 

"  Constables  came  up,  for  to  take  me  into 
Custody  ;   they  took  me  before  the  justice ; 
Justice  Oldmixon  put  me  in  the  parish- 
-stocks  for  a  vagrant. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  drink  your  Honour's  health  in 
A  pot  of  beer,  if  you  will  give  me  sixpence  ; 
But  for  my  part,  I  never  love  to  meddle 
With  politics,  sir." 

FRIEND   OF  HUMANITY. 

"  /  give  thee  sixpence  !  I  will  see  thee  damn'd  first- 
Wretch  !  whom  no  sense  of  wrongs  can  rouse  to  vengeance — 
Sordid,  unfeeling,  reprobate,  degraded, 
Spiritless  outcast !  " 

(Kicks  the  Knife-grinder,  overturns  his  wheel,  and  exit  in  a 
transport  of  Republican  enthusiasm  and  universal  philan- 
thropy.) 

GEORGE  CANNING 
(The  A nti- Jacobin) . 

Written  in  Sapphics  and  said  to  be  a  parody  of  a  poem  of  Southey's, 
which  was  afterwards  suppressed. 


I  I/OVED  him  ,  but  my  reason  bade  prefer 
Duty  to  love,  reject  the  tempter's  bribe 
Of  rose  and  lily  when  each  path  diverged, 
And  either  I  must  pace  to  life's  far  end 
As  love  should  lead  me,  or,  as  duty  urged, 

Plod  the  worn  causeway  arm-in-arm  with  friend 

But  deep  within  my  heart  of  hearts  there  hid 
Ever  the  confidence,  amends  for  all, 
That  heaven  repairs  what  wrong  earth's  journey  did, 
When  love  from  life-long  exile  comes  at  call. 

R.  BROWNING. 

(Bifurcation,  1876) 

The  lady  prefers  Duty  to  Love,  but  she  will  remain  constant  to  her 
lover,  and  reunion  with  him  in  heaven  will  make  amends  for  all.  (In  the 
remainder  of  the  poem  Browning  puts  the  case  of  the  lover  who,  although 
deserted,  is  expected  to  remain  constant  through  life-  and  who  falls.  The 
lady  had  disobeyed  Love,  because  of  the  hardship  and  trouble  that  would 
follow,  and  Browning,  whose  own  married  life  had  been  a  most  happy  one, 
says  this  was  no  excuse.) 


BROWNING  AND  OTHERS  2*5 

WE  are  scratched,  or  we  are  bitten 

By  the  pets  to  whom  we  cling  ; 
Oh,  my  Ix>ve  she  is  a  kitten. 

And  my  heart's  a  ball  of  string. 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACED 


SOME  man  of  quality 

Who — breathing  musk  from  lace-work  and  brocade, 
His  solitaire  amid  the  flow  of  frill, 
Powdered  peruke  on  nose,  and  bag  at  back, 
And  cane  dependent  from  the  ruffled  wrist, — 
Harangues  in  silvery  and  selectest  phrase, 
'Neath  waxlight  in  a  glorified  saloon 
Where  mirrors  multiply  the  girandole. 

R.  BROWNING 
(The  Ring  and  the  Book,  I). 


This  and  the  next  five  quotations  are  word-pictures  (see  p.  85). 

"  OH,  what  are  you  waiting  for  here,  young  man  ? 

What  are  you  looking  for  over  the  bridge  ?  " 

A  little  straw  hat  with  streaming  blue  ribbons ; 

— And  here  it  comes  dancing  over  the  bridge  ! 

JAMES  THOMSON  (B.V.) 
(Sunday  up  the  River). 


DOWN  in  yonder  greene  field 
There  lies  a  knight  slain  under  his  shield  ; 
His  hounds  they  lie  down  at  his  feet, 
So  well  do  they  their  master  keep. 

ANON. 
(The   Three  Ravens). 


WHEN  we  cam'  in  by  Glasgow  toun, 

We  were  a  comely  sight  to  see  ; 
My  Love  was  clad  in  the  black  velvet, 

And  I  mysel'  in  cramasie.  crimson 

ANON. 

(O  waly,  waly,  up  the  bank). 

15 


226  ARNOLD  AND  OTHERS 

THEY  see  the  Heroes 

Sitting  in  the  dark  ship 

On  the  foamless,  long-heaving, 

Violet  sea, 

At  sunset  nearing 

The  Happy  Islands. 

M.  ARNOLD 

(The  Strayed  Reveller] 


LIKE  one,  that  on  a  lonesome  road 

Doth  walk  in  fear  and  dread, 
And  having  once  turned  round,  walks  on 

And  turns  no  more  his  head  : 

Because  he  knows  a  frightful  fiend 

Doth  close  behind  him  tread. 

COLERIDGE 
(The  Ancient  Mariner] 

The  above  are  from  a  series  of  word-pictures  (see  p.  85.) 


WE  take  cunning  for  a  sinister  or  crooked  wisdom ;  and  certainly 
there  is  a  great  difference  between  a  cunning  man  and  a  wise 
man — not  only  in  point  of  honesty,  but  in  point  of  ability. 

BACON. 


CUNNING,  being  the  ape  of  wisdom,  is  the  most  distant  from 
it  that  can  be.  And  as  an  ape  for  the  likeness  it  has  to  a  man — 
wanting  what  really  should  make  him  so — is  by  so  much  the  uglier, 
cunning  is  only  the  want  of  understanding,  which,  because  it 
cannot  compass  its  ends  by  direct  ways,  would  do  it  by  a  trick 
and  circumvention. 

JOHN  LOCKE 
(Some  Thoughts  Concerning  Education,  1693). 


A  ROGUE  is  a  roundabout  fool  ;    a  fool  in  circumbendibus. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 


ELIOT  AND  OTHERS  227 

IT  is  only  by  a  wide  comparison  of  facts  that  the  wisest  full- 
grown  men  can  distinguish  well-rolled  barrels  from  more  supernal 
thunder. 

GEORGE  EXioT 

(Mill  on  the   Floss). 


its  teaching  (the  teaching  of  scientific  and  other  books 
of  information,  the  "  literature  of  knowledge  ")  be  even 
partially  revised,  let  it  be  expanded,  nay,  even  let  its  teaching 
be  but  placed  in  a  better  order,  and  instantly  it  is  superseded. 
Whereas  the  feeblest  works  in  the  literature  of  power  (poetry 
and  what  is  generally  known  as  literature),  surviving  at  all, 

survive  as  finished  and  unalterable  amongst  men The 

Iliad,  the  Prometheus  of  Aeschylus — the  Othello  or  King  I^ear — 
— the  Hamlet  or  Macbeth — and  the  Paradise  Lost,  are  triumphant 
for  ever,  as  long  as  the  languages  exist  in  which  they  speak  or 
can  be  taught  to  speak.  They  never  can  transmigrate  into  new 
incarnations.  To  reproduce  these  in  new  forms,  or  variations,  even 
if  in  some  things  they  should  be  improved,  would  be  to  plagiarize. 
A  good  steam  engine  is  properly  superseded  by  a  better.  But 
one  lovely  pastoral  valley  is  not  superseded  by  another,  nor  a 
statue  of  Praxiteles  by  a  statue  of  Michael  Angelo. 

DE  QUINCEY 
(Alexander    Pope). 

De  Quincey's  division  of  literature  into  "literature  of  power"  and 
"  literature  of  knowledge  "  still  remains  a  useful  classification. 


A  MAN  should  be  able  to  render  a  reason  for  the  faith  that  is 
in  him. 

SYDNEY  SMITH. 


HOW  brew  the  brave  drink,  Life  ? 
Take  of  the  herb  hight  morning  joy, 

Take  of  the  herb  hight  evening  rest, 
Pour  in  pain,  lest  bliss  should  cloy, 
Shake  in  sin  to  give  it  zest — 
Then  down  with  the  brave  drink,  Life  ! 

AUTHOR  NO*  TRACED. 


228  PENN  AND  OTHERS 

I  had  this  attributed  to  Robert  Burton,  but  cannot  find  it  in  the 
Anatomv  of  Melancholy,  It  may  possibly  be  from  Richard  Brathwaite, 
whose  works  I  think  were  at  one  time  attributed  to  Burton  ;  but  I  have 
no  opportunity  of  consulting  them. 


I  EXPECT  to  pass  through  this  world  but  once.  Any  good  work, 
therefore,  I  can  do  or  show  to  any  fellow  creature,  let  me  do  it 
now  !  L/et  me  not  defer  or  neglect  it,  for  I  shall  not  pass  this 
way  again. 

WIUJAM  PENN. 

I  find  that  there  has  been  much  discussion  in  Notes  and  Queries  and 
elsewhere  as  to  the  origin  of  this  quotation,  and  it  is  now  usually  attributed 
to  the  French-American  Quaker,  Stephen  Grellet.  As,  however,  Bartlett's 
Familiar  Quotations  gives  "  I  shall  not  pass  this  way  again  "  as  a  favourite 
saying  of  William  Penn's,  it  seems  more  reasonable  to  consider  him  the 
author  of  the  above. 


YOUTH  is  a  blunder,  Manhood  a  struggle,  Old  Age  a  regret. 

DlSRAEU 
(Coningsby). 


SHE  went  into  the  garden  to  cut  a  cabbage  to  make  an  apple 
pie.  Just  then,  a  great  she-bear  coming  down  the  street  poked 
its  nose  into  the  shop- window.  "  What !  no  soap  ?  "  So 
he  died,  and  she  (very  imprudently)  married  the  barber.  And 
there  were  present  at  the  wedding  the  Joblillies,  and  the  Piccannies, 
and  the  Gobelites,  and  the  great  Panjandrum  himself,  with  the 
little  button  on  top.  So  they  all  set  to  playing  Catch- who-catch- 
can,  till  the  gunpowder  ran  out  at  the  heels  of  their  boots. 

SAMUEL  FOOTE,  1720-1777. 

Charles  Macklin  (1699-1797),  actor  and  playwright,  said  in  a  lecture 
on  oratory  that  by  practice  he  had  brought  his  memory  to  such  perfection 
that  he  could  learn  anything  by  rote  on  once  hearing  or  reading  it.  Foote 
(a  more  important  dramatist  and  actor)  wrote  out  the  above  and  handed 
it  up  to  Macklin  to  read  and  then  repeat  from  memory  I  The  passage  was 
very  familiar  to  us  from  Miss  Edgeworth's  Harry  and  Lucy ;  and  also  from 
Verdant  Green,  by  Cuthbert  Bede  (Edward  Bradley)  where  it  was  set  in 
the  bogus  examination  paper  "  To  be  turned  into  Latin  after  the  manner 
of  the  Animals  of  Tacitus. 


!AND  OTHERS  229 

YOU  feel  o'er  you  stealing 

The  old  familiar,  warm,  champagny,  brandy-punchy, 
feeling. 

J.   R.  LOWEI,!, 
(Old  College   Rooms). 


THE  first  and  worst  of  all  frauds  is  to  cheat 
One's  self. 

P.  J.  BAILEY 

(Festus,    "Anywhere"]. 


TRULY  it  is  to  be  noted,  that  children's  plays  are  not  sports, 
and  should  be  regarded  as  their  most  serious  actions. 

MONTAIGNE. 


BOYS  and  their  pastimes  are  swayed  by  periodic  forces  in- 
scrutable to  man ;  so  that  tops  and  marbles  reappear  in  their 
due  season,  regular  like  the  sun  and  moon ;  and  the  harmless 
art  of  knucklebones  has  seen  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire  and 
the  rise  of  the  United  States. 

R.  L.  STEVENSON 
(The  Lantern-Bearers}. 


SAYS  Chloe,  "  Though  tears  it  may  cost, 
It  is  time  we  should  part,  my  dear  Sue  ; 

For  your  character's  totally  lost, 
And  I've  not  sufficient  for  two  !  " 

ANON. 


AIJ3X.  SMITH 

I  CANNOT  say,  in  Eastern  style, 
Where'er  she  treads  the  pansy  blows  ; 
Nor  call  her  eyes  twin-stars,  her  smile 
A  sunbeam,  and  her  mouth  a  rose. 
Nor  can  I,  as  your  bridegrooms  do, 
Talk  of  my  raptures.     Oh,  how  sore 
The  fond  romance  of  twenty-two 
Is  parodied  ere  thirty-four ! 

To-night  I  shake  hands  with  the  past,— 

Familiar  years,  adieu,  adieu  ! 

An  unknown  door  is  open  cast, 

An  empty  fxiture  wide  and  new 

Stands  waiting.     O  ye  naked  rooms, 

Void,  desolate,  without  a  charm, 

Will  Love's  smile  chase  your  lonely  glooms, 

And  drape  your  walls,  and  make  them  warm  ? 

ALEXANDER  SMITH  (1830-1867) 
(The  Night  before  the  Wedding). 


In  my  notes,  this  strange  poem  is  stated  to  have  been  actually  written 
by  Smith  on  the  night  before  his  wedding ;  but  it  is  difficult  to  believe 
this.  In  the  poem,  the  poet  sits  until  dawn  on  his  wedding-eve  thinking 
of  the  "  long-lost  passions  of  his  youth,"  and  comparing  them  with  his 
calm  and  unimpassioned  love,  "  pale  blossom  of  the  snow,"  for  the  bride 
of  the  morrow.  He  even  fears  that  his  wife's  tenderness  will  keep  alive 
the  memories  of  his  youthful  loves  : 

It  may  be  that  your  loving  wiles 
Will  call  a  sigh  from  far-off  years  5 
It  may  be  that  your  happiest  smiles 
Will  brim  my  eyes  with  hopeless  tears ; 
It  may  be  that  my  sleeping  breath 
Will  shake  with  painful  visions  wrung ; 
And,  in  the  awful  trance  of  death, 
A  stranger's  name  be  on  my  tongue. 

This  is  sufficiently  gruesome.  However  he  finally  comes  to  the  conclusion 
(although  it  seems  dragged  in  to  save  a  very  difficult  situation)  that  his 
love  for  his  future  bride  may  become  more  satisfactory  to  him  : 

For,  as  the  dawning  sweet  and  fast 
Through  all  the  heaven  spreads  and  flows, 
Within  life's  discord  rude  and  vast 
Love's  subtle  music  grows  and  grows. 

My  love,  pale  blossom  of  the  snow, 

Has  pierced  earth,  wet  with  wintry  showers— 

O  may  it  drink  the  sun,  and  blow, 

And  be  followed  by  all  the  year  of  flowers  ! 


MACPHERSON— SHELLEY  231 

Smith,  with  P.  J.  Bailey,  Sydney  Dobell  and  others,  belonged  to  what 
was  called  the  "  Spasmodic  "  school  which  the  Briiannica  says  is  "  now 
fallen  into  oblivion."  I  do  not  know  what  this  means.  Smith,  Bailey, 
and  Dobell  no  doubt  wrote  extravagantly,  but  they  have  all  written  good 
verses.  Take  for  example  the  following  from  Smith's  first  poem,  "  A 
Life  Drama"  written  at  twenty-two  years  of  age  : 

All  things  have  something  more  than  barren  use  ; 

There  is  a  scent  upon  the  brier, 
A  tremulous  splendour  in  the  autumn  dews, 
Cold  morns  are  fringed  with  fire ; 

The  clodded  earth  goes  up  in  sweet-breath' d  flowers, 

In  music  dies  poor  human  speech, 
And  into  beauty  blow  those  hearts  of  ours, 

When  Love  is  born  in  each. 

Smith  was  also  a  charming  essayist.     See  quotations  elsewhere. 


AND  so  on  to  the  end  (and  the  end  draws  nearer) 
When  our  souls  may  be  freer,  our  senses  clearer, 
('Tis  an  old-world  creed  which  is  nigh  forgot), 
When  the  eyes  of  the  sleepers  may  waken  in  wonder, 
And  hearts  may  be  joined  that  were  riven  asunder, 
And  Time  and  Love  shall  be  merged — in  what  ? 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACED. 


SOFT  music  came  to  mine  ear.  It  was  like  the  rising  breeze, 
that  whirls,  at  first,  the  thistle's  beard  ;  then  flies,  dark-shadowy, 
over  the  grass.  It  was  the  maid  of  Fuarfed  wild  :  she  raised  the 
nightly  song  ;  for  she  knew  that  my  soul  was  a  stream,  that  flowed 
at  pleasant  sounds. 

JAMES  MACPHERSON  (1736-1796). 

Macpherson  alleged  that  he  had  discovered  poems  by  the  Gaelic  bard, 
Ossian,  who  lived  in  the  Third  Century,  and  he  published  translations  of 
them.  Actually  the  poems  were  his  own,  but  they  were  beautiful  and  had 
a  considerable  effect  upon  literature. 


I  DARE  not  guess  :  but  in  this  life 
Of  error,  ignorance,  and  strife, 
Where  nothing  is,  but  all  things  seem, 
And  we  the  shadows  of  the  dream. 


aja  SHELLEY  AND  OTHERS 

It  is  a  modest  creed,  and  yet 
Pleasant  if  one  considers  it, 
To  own  that  death  itself  must  be, 
Like  all  the  rest,  a  mockery. 

SHEIAEY 
(The  Sensitive  Plant). 

I  SHOULD  like  to  make  every  man,  woman,  and  child  disconten- 
ted with  themselves.even  as  I  am  discontented  with  myself.  I  should 
like  to  waken  in  them,  about  their  physical,  their  intellectual, 
their  moral  condition,  that  divine  discontent  which  is  the  parent, 
first  of  upward  aspiration  and  then  of  self-control,  thought, 
effort  to  fulfil  that  aspiration  even  in  part.  For  to  be  discontented 
with  the  divine  discontent,  and  to  be  ashamed  with  the  noble 
shame,  is  the  very  germ  and  first  upgrowth  of  all  virtue. 

CHARGES  KJNGSI,EY 
(The  Science  of  Health,  1872). 

The  origin  of  the  expression  "  divine  discontent." 

HE  first  deceas'd  ;  she  for  a  little  tried 
To  live  without  him  :  liked  it  not,  and  died. 

SIR  HENRY  WOTTON 
(Reliquiae    Wottonianae,     1685). 

IS  the  yellow  bird  dead  ? 

Lay  your  dear  little  head 
Close,  close  to  my  heart,  and  weep,  precious  one,  there, 

While  your  beautiful  hair 
On  my  bosom  lies  light,  like  a  sun-lighted  cloud  ; 

No,  you  need  not  keep  still, 

You  may  sob  as  you  will  ; 
There  is  some  little  comfort  in  crying  aloud. 

But  the  days  they  must  come, 

When  your  grief  will  be  dumb  : 
Grown  women  like  me  must  take  care  how  they  cry. 

You  will  learn  by  and  by 
'Tis  a  womanly  art  to  hide  pain  out  of  sight, 

To  look  round  with  a  smile, 

Though  your  heart  aches  the  while 
And  to  keep  back  your  tears  till  you've  blown  out  the 
light. 

MARIAN 


(Picture  Poems  for  Young  Folks) 


BACON  AND  OTHERS  233 

MY  Lord  St.  Albans  said  that  wise  nature  did  never  put  her 
precious  jewels  into  a  garret  four  stories  high  ;  and,  therefore, 
that  exceeding  tall  men  had  ever  empty  heads. 

BACON 

(Apothegms). 


THAT  low  man  seeks  a  little  thing  to  do, 

Sees  it  and  does  it : 
This  high  man,  with  a  great  thing  to  pursue, 

Dies  ere  he  knows  it. 
That  low  man  goes  on  adding  one  to  one, 

His  hundred's  soon  hit : 
This  high  man,  aiming  at  a  million. 

Misses  a  unit. 
That,  has  the  world  here — should  he  need  the  next, 

Let  the  world  mind  him  ! 
This,    throws   himself   on   God,    and   unperplexed 

Seeking  shall  find  Him. 

R.  BROWNING 

(A  Grammarian's  Funeral). 

See  The  Inn  Album  (IV)  where  Browning  makes  his  heroine  say  : 
Better  have  failed  in  the  high  aim,  as  I, 
Than  vulgarly  in  the  low  aim  succeed 
As,  God  be  thanked,  I  do  not  I 


THERE  is  a  secret  belief  among  some  men  that  God  is  displeased 
with  man's  happiness ;  and  in  consequence  they  slink  about 
creation,  ashamed  and  afraid  to  enjoy  anything. 

SIR  A.  HEUPS 

(Companions  of  my  Solitude). 


O  ELOQUENT,  just,  and  mightie  Death!  whom  none  could  ad- 
vise, thou  hast  persuaded ;  what  none  hath  dared,  thou  hast  done  ; 
and  whom  all  the  world  hath  flattered,  thou  only  hast  cast  out 
of  the  world  and  despised.  Thou  hast  drawne  together  all  the 
farre  stretched  greatnesse,  all  the  pride,  crueltie,  and  ambition 
of  man,  and  covered  it  all  over  with  these  two  narrow  words,  Hie 
jacet  ! 

SIR  WAI/TER  RAI^EIGH 
(Historic  of  the  World). 


234  THOMSON— BROWNING 

A  REQUIEM 

THOU  hast  lived  in  pain  and  woe, 
Thou  hast  lived  in  grief  and  fear  ; 

Now  thine  heart  can  dread  no  blow, 
Now  thine  eyes  can  shed  no  tear  : 

Storms  round  us  shall  beat  and  rave  ; 

Thou  art  sheltered  in  the  grave. 

Thou  for  long,  long  years  hast  borne, 
Bleeding  through  I/ife's  wilderness, 

Heavy  loss  and  wounding  scorn ; 
Now  thine  heart  is  burdenless  : 

Vainly  rest  for  ours  we  crave ; 

Thine  is  quiet  in  the  grave. 

JAMES  THOMSON  ("  B.V."). 


AMPHIBIAN 

THE  fancy  I  had  to-day, 
Fancy  which  turned  a  fear  ! 

I  swam  far  out  in  the  bay, 

Since  waves  laughed  warm  and  clear. 

I  lay  and  looked  at  the  sun, 
The  noon-sun  looked  at  me  : 

Between  us  two,  no  one 
Live  creature,  that  I  could  see. 

Yes  !     There  came  floating  by 

Me,  who  lay  floating  too, 
Such  a  strange  butterfly  ! 

Creature  as  dear  as  new : 

Because  the  membraned  wings 

So  wonderful,  so  wide, 
So  sun-suffused,   were  things 

Like  soul  and  nought  beside 

What  if  a  certain  soul 

Which  early  slipped  its  sheath, 
And  has  for  its  home  the  whole 

Of  heaven,  thus  look  beneath. 


BROWNING  235 

Thus  watch  one  who,  in  the  world, 

But  lives  and  likes  life's  way, 
Nor  wishes  the  wings  unfurled 

That  sleep  in  the  worm,  they  say  ? 

But  sometimes  when  the  weather 

Is  blue,  and  warm  waves  tempt 
To  free  oneself  of  tether, 

And  try  a  life  exempt 

From  worldly  noise  and  dust, 

In  the  sphere  which  overbrims 
With  passion  and  thought, — why,  just 

Unable  to  fly,  one  swims  !  .  .  . 

Emancipate  through  passion 

And  thought,  with  sea  for  sky, 
We  substitute,  in  a  fashion, 

For  heaven — poetry  : 

Which  sea,  to  all  intent, 

Gives  flesh  such  noon-disport 
As  a  finer  element 

Affords  the  spirit  sort. 

Whatever  they  are,  we  seem  : 

Imagine  the  thing  they  know  ; 
All  deeds  they  do,  we  dream  ; 

Can  heaven  be  else  but  so  ? 

And  meantime,  yonder  streak 

Meets  the  horizon's  verge  ; 
That  is  the  land,  to  seek 

If  we  tire  or  dread  the  surge  : 

L/and  the  solid  and  safe — 

To  welcome  again  (confess  !) 
When,  high  and  dry,  we  chafe 

The  body,  and  don  the  dress. 

Does  she  look,  pity,  wonder 
At  one  who  mimics  flight, 
Swims — heaven  above,  sea  under, 
Yet  always  earth  in  sight  ? 

R.  BROWNING 
(Prologue  to  Fifine  at  the  Fair}. 


236  PROWSE  AND  OTHERS 

This  is  not  one  of  Browning's  best  poems,  but  it  is  interesting.  The 
butterfly  in  the  air  over  the  poet  swimming  is  compared  to  a  '  certain  soul,' 
Mrs.  Browning,  looking  down  upon  him  from  heaven.  The  '  flying,'  free 
and  entirely  released  from  the  earth,  is  the  life  of  the  soul,  to  which  the 
poet  cannot  attain ;  but  during  periods  of  inspiration  he  lives  a  life  free 
of  '  worldly  noise  and  dust,'  which  approaches  that  of  the  soul.  Such 
periods  of  inspiration  are  likened  to  '  swimming '  with  the  land  always 
in  sight,  as  compared  with  the  '  flying '  of  the  soul  in  the  far-removed 
celestial  regions.  "  We  substitute,  in  a  fashion,  For  heaven — poetry." 

Whatever  they  are  we  seem  :  during  inspiration  the  poet's  life  is  a  reflex 
of  or  approach  to  the  heavenly  life. 

Amphibian,  because  the  poet  is  of  earth  and  yet  can  "  swim  "  in  the 
sea  of  imagination.  Charles  Lamb  speaks  of  his  charming  Child  Angel, 
half-angel,  half-human,  as  Amphibium.  Browning's  poem  may  have  been 
an  unconscious  development  of  a  passage  from  Sir  Thomas  Browne's 
Religio  Medici : — "  Thus  is  Man  that  great  and  true  Ampbibium,  whose 
nature  is  disposed  to  live,  not  only  like  other  creatures  in  divers  elements, 
but  in  divided  and  distinguished  worlds  :  for  though  there  be  but  one  to 
sense,  there  are  two  to  reason,  the  one  visible,  the  other  invisible." 

The  sixth  and  last  verses  are  interesting.  Browning,  while  in  the 
world  "  Both  lives  and  likes  life's  way,"  nor  is  anxious  that  his  "  wings  " 
should  be  "  unfurled  "  ;  and  he  wonders  how  his  angel-wife  regards  mm, 
content  with  his  "  mimic  flight." — See  p.  114. 


WE  work  so  hard,  we  age  so  soon, 

We  live  so  swiftly,  one  and  all, 
That  ere  our  day  be  fairly  noon, 

The  shadows  eastward  seem  to  fall. 
Some  tender  light  may  gild  them  yet, 

As  yet,  'tis  not  so  very  cold, 
And,  on  the  whole,  I  won't  regret 

My  slender  chance  of  growing  old. 

W.  J.  PROWSE,  (1836  —  1870). 

(My  Lost  Old  Age). 
Prowse  wrote  excellent  verses  before  he  was  20  and  he  died  at  34. 


Soul  of  all  things  !  make  it  mine 
To  feel,  amid  the  city's  jar, 
That  there  abides  a  peace  of  thine 
Man  did  not  make,  and  cannot  mar. 

MATTHEW  ARNOLD. 
(Lines  written  in  Kensington  Gardens). 

f 

A  WOMAN  needs  to  be  wooed  long  after  she  is  won,  and  the 
husband  who  ceases  to  court  his  wife  is  courting  disaster. 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACED. 


ARNOLD  237 

TO  A  GIPSY  CHILD  BY  THE  SEASHORE 

WHO  taught  this  pleading  to  unpractised  eyes  ? 
Who  hid  such  import  in  an  infant's  gloom  ? 
Who  lent  thee,  child,  this  meditative  guise  ? 
Who  mass'd,  round  that  slight  brow,  these  clouds  of 
doom  ?  .  .  . 

Glooms  that  go  deep  as  thine  I  have  not  known  : 
Moods  of  fantastic  sadness,  nothing  worth. 
Thy  sorrow  and  thy  calmness  are  thine  own  : 
Glooms  that  enhance  and  glorify  this  earth. 

What  mood  wears  like  complexion  to  thy  woe  ? 
His,  who  in  mountain  glens,  at  noon  of  day, 
Sits  rapt,  and  hears  the  battle  break  below  ? 
— Ah  !  thine  was  not  the  shelter,  but  the  fray. 

Some  exile's,  mindful  how  the  past  was  glad  ? 
Some  angel's,  in  an  alien  planet  born  ? 
— No  exile's  dream  was  ever  half  so  sad, 
Nor  any  angel's  sorrow  so  forlorn. 

Is  the  calm  thine  of  stoic  souls,  who  weigh 

Life  well,  and  find  it  wanting,  nor  deplore  ; 

But  in  disdainful  silence  turn  away, 

Stand  mute,  self-centred,  stern,  and  dream  no  more  ?  . 

Down  the  pale  cheek  long  lines  of  shadow  slope, 
Which  years,  and  curious  thought,  and  suffering  give 
— Thou  hast  foreknown  the  vanity  of  hope, 
Forseen  thy  harvest,  yet  proceed 'st  to  live.  .  .  . 

Ere   the   long  night,   whose  stillness  brooks  no  star, 
Match  that  funereal  aspect  with  her  pall, 
I  think,  thou  wilt  have  fathom 'd  life  too  far, 
Have  known  too  much — or  else  forgotten  all. 

The  Guide  of  our  dark  steps  a  triple  veil 
Betwixt  our  senses  and  our  sorrow  keeps  ; 
Hath  sown  with  cloudless  passages  the  tale 
Of  grief,  and  eased  us  with  a  thousand  sleeps. 

Ah  !  not  the  nectarous  poppy  lovers  use, 
Not  daily  labour's  dull,  Lethaean  spring, 
Oblivion  in  lost  angels  can  infuse 
Of  the  soil'd  glory,  and  the  trailing  wing  ; 


238  ARNOLD  AND  OTHERS 

And  though  thou  glean,  what  strenuous  gleaners  may, 
In  the  throng'd  fields  where  winning  comes  by  strife  ; 
And  though  the  just  sun  gild,  as  mortals  pray. 
Some  reaches  of  thy  storm-vext  stream  of  life  ;  .  .  .  . 

Once,  ere  thy  day  go  down,  thou  shalt  discern, 
Oh  once,  ere  night,  in  thy  success,  thy  chain  ! 
Ere  the  long  evening  close,  thou  shalt  return, 
And  wear  this  majesty  of  grief  again. 

MATTHEW  ARNOLD. 

ANIMTJLA,  vagula,  blandula. 
Hospes,  comesque  corporis, 
Quae  nunc  abibis  in  loca. 
Pallidula,  frigida,  nudula  ; 
Nee,  ut  soles,  dabis  joca  ! 

SPARTIANUS 
(Life  of  Hadrian). 

These  lines,  put  into  the  mouth  of  the  dying  Emperor,  have  been 
translated  by  Vaughan,  Prior,  Byron  and  others.  Mr.  Clodd  (The 
Question — //  a  Man  Die)  gives  this  version,  without  naming  the 
translator : — 

Soul  of  mine,  thou  fleeting,  clinging  thing, 
Long  my  body's  mate  and  guest, 
Ah !    now  whither  wilt  thou  wing, 
Pallid,  naked,  shivering, 
Never  more  to  speak  and  jest. 

In  all  these  versions  pallidula,  etc.,  are  applied  to  animula,  but,  as 
Mr.  Alfred  S.  West  points  out  to  me,  they  appear  to  be  epithets  of  loca, 
thus: — "Fleeting,  winsome  soul,  my  body's  guest  and  comrade,  that  art 
now  about  to  set  out  for  regions  wan,  cold  and  bare,  no  more  to  jest 
according  to  thy  wont." 

THIS  wretched  Inn,  where  we  scarce  stay  to  bait, 

We  call  our  Dwelling-place  : 
But  angels  in  their  full  enlightened  state, 
Angels,  who  Live,  and  know  what  'tis  to  Be, 
Who  all  the  nonsense  of  our  language  see, 
Who  speak  things,  and  our  words — their  ill-drawn  pictures 

— scorn, 

When  we,  by  a  foolish  figure,  say, 

"  Behold  an  old  man  dead  !  "  then  they 
Speak  properly,   and  cry,    "  Behold   a  man-child   born !  " 

,   1 6 1 8- 1 667 

(Life). 


I.YNCH  AND  OTHERS  239 

HERB  now  I  am  :  the  house  is  fast ; 
I  am  shut  in  from  all  but  Thee  ; 
Great  witness  of  my  privacy, 
Dare  I  unshamed  my  soul  undress, 
And.  like  a  child,  seek  Thy  caress, 
Thou  Ruler  of  a  realm  so  vast  ? 

T.    T.    lyYNCH. 

THE  dog  walked  off  to  play  with  a  black  beetle.  The  beetle 
was  hard  at  work  trying  to  roll  home  a  great  ball  of  dung  it  had 
been  collecting  all  the  morning  ;  but  Doss  broke  the  ball,  and  ate 
the  beetle's  hind  legs,  and  then  bit  off  its  head.  And  it  was  all 
play,  and  no  one  could  tell  what  it  had  lived  and  worked  for. 
A  striving,  and  a  striving,  and  an  ending  in  nothing. 

OLIVE  SCHREINER 

(The  Story  of  an  African  Farm)- 

The  author  is  depicting  the  sadness  of  life. 


GRACE  FOR  A  CHILD 

HERE  a  little  child  I  stand, 

Heaving  up  my  either  hand  ; 
Cold  as  Paddocks  though  they  be,  frogs 

Here  I  lift  them  up  to  Thee, 

For  a  benison  to  fall  blessing 

On  our  meat,  and  on  us  all.     Amen. 

ROBERT  HERRICK  (1591-1674). 


AS  the  moon's  soft  splendour 
O'er  the  faint  cold  starlight  of  Heaven 

Is  thrown, 

So  your  voice  most  tender 
To  the  strings  without  soul  had  then  given 
Its  own.  .  .  . 

Though  the  sound  overpowers, 
Sing  again,  with  your  dear  voice  revealing 

A    tone 

Of  some  world  far  from  ours, 
Where  music  and  moonlight  and  feeling 
Are  one. 

SHRLI.HY 
(To  Jane} 


WALLER  AND  OTHERS 

WHILE  I  listen  to  thy  voice, 

Chloris  !     I  feel  my  life  decay  : 
That  pow'rful  noise 

Calls  my  fleeting  soul  away. 
Oh  1  suppress  that  magic  sound, 
Which  destroys  without  a  wound. 

Peace,  Chloris,  peace  !  or  singing  die  ; 
That,  together,  you  and  I 

To  heaven  may  go : 

For  all  we  know 
Of  what  the  Blessed  do  above 
Is,  that  they  sing,  and  that  they  love. 

EDMUND  WAITER  (1606-1687). 


TO  be  seventy  years  young  is  sometimes  far  more  cheerful 
and  hopeful  than  to  be  forty  years  old. 

O.  W. 


From  letter  to  Julia  Ward  Howe  in  1889  on  her  seventieth  birthday. 
Mrs.  Howe  wrote  the  fine  "  Battle  Hymn  of  the  American  Republic," 
beginning  :  — 

Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of  the  Lord  : 
He  is  trampling  out  the  vintage  where  the  grapes  of  wrath  are  stored  : 
He  hath  loosed  the  fateful  lightning  of  His  terrible  swift  sword  : 
His  truth  is  marching  on. 


INSOMNIA 

A  HOUSE  of  sleepers,  I  alone  unblest 

Am  still  awake  and  empty  vigil  keep  : 

When  those  who  share  Life's  day  with  me  find  rest, 

Oh,  let  me  not  be  last  to  fall,  asleep. 

ANNA  REEVE  AU>RICH. 

She  did  "  fall  asleep  "  at  the  early  age  of  twenty-six  in  June,  1892. 


THE  world  is  full  of  willing  people  :  some  willing  to  work, 
and  the  rest  willing  to  let  them. 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACED, 


CLOUGH— IvYTTON  241 

"THROUGH  A  GLASS  DARKIyY  " 

WHAT  we,  when  face  to  face  we  see 
The  Father  of  our  souls,  shall  be, 
John  tells  us,  doth  not  yet  appear  ; 
Ah  !  did  he  tell  what  we  are  here  ! 

A  mind  for  thoughts  to  pass  into, 

A  heart  for  loves  to  travel  through, 

Five  senses  to  detect  things  near, 

Is  this  the  whole  that  we  are  here  ?      .  . 

Ah  yet,  when  all  is  thought  and  said 
The  heart  still  overrules  the  head  ; 
Still  what  wre  hope  we  must  believe, 
And  what  is  given  us  receive ; 

Must  still  believe,  for  still  we  hope 
That  in  a  world  of  larger  scope, 
What  here  is  faithfully  begun 
Will  be  completed,  not  undone. 

My  child,  we  still  must  think,  when  we 
That  ampler  life  together  see, 
Some  true  result  will  yet  appear 
Of  what  we  are,  together,  here. 

A.  H.  CJ.OUGH. 


PLUS  je  vois  les  homines,  plus  j 'admire  les  chiens. 
(The  more  1  see  of  men,  the  more  I  admire  dogs.) 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACED. 


HF,  who  doth  not  smoke  hath  either  known  no  great  griefs,  or 
refuseth  himself  the  softest  consolation  next  to  that  which  cometh 
from  heaven.  "What,  softer  than  woman  ?  "  whispers  the  young 
reader.  Young  reader,  woman  teases  as  well  as  consoles.  Woman 
makes  half  the  sorrows  which  she  boasts  the  privilege  of  soothing. 
On  the  whole,  then,  woman  in  this  scale,  the  weed  in  that — Jupiter ! 

16 


242  LYTTON  AND  OTHERS 

hang  out  thy  balance  and  weigh  them  both  ;  and,  if  thou  give  the 
preference  to  woman,  all  I  can  say  is,  the  next  time  Juno 
ruffles  thee,  O  Jupiter,  try  the  weed  ! 

BUIAVER  LYTTON 
(What  will  He  do  with  It  ?) 

Compare  Kipling  in   "  The   Betrothed  v  : — 

A  woman  is  only  a  woman,  but  a  good  cigar  is  a  smoke. 


IL  y  a  toujours  1'un  qui  baise,  et  1'autre  qui  tend  la  joue. 
(There  is  always  one  who  kisses  and  the  other  who  offers  the  cheek.) 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACED. 


AH,  wasteful  woman,  she  who  may 

On  her  sweet  self  set  her  own  price, 
Knowing  he  cannot  choose  but  pay, 

How  has  she  cheapen'd  paradise  ; 
How  given  for  nought  her  priceless  gift, 

How  spoiled  the  bread  and  spilled  the  wine, 
Which,  spent  with  due  respective  thrift, 

Had  made  brutes  men,  and  men  divine  ! 

C.  PATMORE 
(The  Angel  in  the  House). 


NAY,  Love,  you  did  give  all  I  asked,  I  think — 

More  than  I  merit,  yes,  by  many  times. 

But  had  you — oh,  with  the  same  perfect  brow, 

And  perfect  eyes,  and  more  than  perfect  mouth, 

And  the  low  voice  my  soul  hears,  as  a  bird 

The  fowler's  pipe  and  follows  to  the  snare — 

Had  you,  with  these  the  same,  but  brought  a  mind  ! 

Some  women  do  so.     Had  the  mouth  there  urged 

"  God  and  the  glory  !  never  care  for  gain." 

I  might  have  done  it  for  you. 

R .    BROWNING 

(Andrea   del  Sarto}. 

The  painter  says  that  his  wife,  instead  of  urging  him  to  work  for 
immediate  gain,  might  have  incited  him  to  nobler  efforts. 


PRAED  343 

CHILDHOOD  AND  HIS  VISITORS 

ONCE  on  a  time,  when  sunny  May 

Was  kissing  up  the  April  showers, 
I  saw  fair  Childhood  hard  at  play 

Upon  a  bank  of  blushing  flowers  ; 
Happy — he  knew  not  whence  or  how — 

And  smiling, — who  could  choose  but  love  him  ? 
For  not  more  glad  than  Childhood's  brow, 

Was  the  blue  heaven  that  beamed  above  him. 

Old  Time,  in  most  appalling  wrath, 

That  valley's  green  repose  invaded  ; 
The  brooks  grew  dry  upon  his  path, 

The  birds  were  mute,  the  lilies  faded. 
But  Time  so  swiftly  winged  his  flight, 

In  haste  a  Grecian  tomb  to  batter, 
That  Childhood  watched  his  paper  kite, 

And  knew  just  nothing  of  the  matter 

Then  stepped  a  gloomy  phantom  up, 

Pale,  cypress-crowned,  Night's  awful  daughter, 
And  proffered  him  a  fearful  cup 

Full  to  the  brim  of  bitter  water  : 
Poor  Childhood  bade  her  tell  her  name ; 

And   when   the   beldame  muttered,    "  Sorrow," 
He  said  ,"  Don't  interrupt  my  game  ; 

I'll  taste  it,  if  I  must,  to-morrow."  .  .  . 

Then  Wisdom  stole  his  bat  and  ball, 

And  taught  him  with  most  sage  endeavour, 
Why  bubbles  rise  and  acorns  fall, 

And  why  no  toy  may  last  for  ever. 
She  talked  of  all  the  wondrous  laws 

Which  Nature's  open  book  discloses, 
And  Childhood,  ere  she  made  a  pause, 

Was  fast  asleep  among  the  roses. 

Sleep  on,  sleep  on  !  Oh  !  Manhood's  dreams 

Are  all  of  earthly  pain  or  pleasure, 
Of  Glory's  toils,  Ambition's  schemes, 

Of  cherished  love,  or  hoarded  treasure  : 
But  to  the  couch  where  Childhood  lies 

A  more  delicious  trance  is  given, 
Lit  up  by  rays  from  seraph  eyes, 

And  glimpses  of  remembered  Heaven  ! 

W.  M.  PRAED. 


244  MACDONALD— KIPLING 

ALAS,  how  easily  things  go  wrong  ! 
A  sigh  too  much,  or  a  kiss  too  long, 
And  there  follows  a  mist  and  a  weeping  rain, 
And  life  is  never  the  same  again. 

G.   MACDONAIJD 

(Phantasies). 


L'ENVOI 

THERE'S  a  whisper  down  the  field  where  the  year  has  shot  her  yield 

And  the  ricks  stand  grey  to  the  sun, 

Singing  : — "  Over  then,  come  over,  for  the  bee  has  quit  the  clover 
And  your  English  summer's  done." 

You  have  heard  the  beat  of  the  off-shore  wind 
And  the  thresh  of  the  deep-sea  rain  ; 
You  have  heard  the  song — how  long  !  how  long  ! 
Pull  out  on  the  trail  again  ! 

Ha'  done  with  the  Tents  of  Shem,  dear  lass, 

We've  seen  the  seasons  through, 

And  it's  time  to  turn  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail,  the  out  trail, 

Pull  out,  pull  out,  on  the  Long  Trail — the  trail  that  is  always  new. 

It's  North  you  may  run  to  the  rime-ringed  sun 

Or  South  to  the  blind  Horn's  hate  ; 
Or  East  all  the  way  into  Mississippi  Bay, 
Or  West  to  the  Golden  Gate  ; 
Where  the  blindest  bluffs  hold  good,  dear  lass, 
And  the  wildest  tales  are  true, 
And  the  men  bulk  big  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail,  the 

out   trail, 

And  life  runs  large  on  the  Long  Trail — the  trail  that  is 
always   new. 

The  days  are  sick  and  cold,  and  the  skies  are  grey  and  old, 

And  the  twice-breathed  airs  blow  damp  ; 
And  I'd  sell  my  tired  soul  for  the  bucking  beam-sea  roll 
Of  a  black  Bilboa  tramp  ; 

With  her  load-line  over  her  hatch,  dear  lass, 

And  a  drunken  Dago  crew, 

And  her  nose  held  down  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail,  the 

out  trail 

From  Cadiz  Bar  on  the  Long  Trail — the  trail  that  is  always 
new. 


KIPLING  245 

There  be  triple  ways  to  take,  of  the  eagle  or  the  snake, 

Or  the  way  of  a  man  with  a  maid  ; 
But  the  sweetest  way  to  me  is  a  ship's  upon  the  sea 
In  the  heel  of  the  North-East  trade, 

Can  you  hear  the  crash  on  her  bows,  dear  lass, 

And  the  drum  of  the  racing  screw, 

As  she  ships  it  green  on  the  old  trail,  our  own    trail,  the 

out  trail, 

As  she  lifts  and  'scends  on  the  Long  Trail — the  trail  that  is 
always  new. 


See  the  shaking  funnels  roar,  with  the  Peter  at  the  fore, 

And  the  fenders  grind  and  heave, 

And  the  derricks  clack  and  grate,  as  the  tackle  hooks  the  crate, 
And  the  fall-rope  whines  through  the  sheave  ; 
It's  "  Gang-plank  up  and  in,"  dear  lass, 
It's  "  Hawsers  warp  her  through  !  " 
And  it's  "  All  clear  aft  "  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail,  the 

out  trail, 

.  We're  backing  down  on  the  Long  Trail — the  trail  that   is 
always  new 


O  the  mutter  overside,  when  the  port-fog  holds  us  tied, 

And  the  sirens  hoot  their  dread  ! 

When  foot  by  foot  we  creep  o'er  the  hueless  viewless  deep 
To  the  sob  of  the  questing  lead  ! 

It's  down  bv  the  Lower  Hope,  dear  lass, 

With  the  Gunfleet  Sands  in  view, 

Till  the  Mouse  swings  green  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail, 

the  out  trail, 

And  the  Gull  Light  lifts  on  the  Long  Trail — the  trail  that  is 
always    new. 


O  the  blazing  tropic  night,  when  the  wake's  a  welt  of  light 

That  holds  the  hot  sky  tame, 
And  the  steady  fore-foot  snores  through  the  planet-powder'd 

floors 
Where  the  scared  whale  flukes  in  flame  ! 

Her  plates  are  scarr'd  by  the  sun,  dear  lass, 

And  her  ropes  are  taut  with  the  dew, 

For  we're  booming  down  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail,  the 

out  trail, 

We're  sagging  south  on  the  Long  Trail — the  trail  that  is 
always  new. 


246  KIPLING— WORDSWORTH 

Then  home,  get  her  home,  when  the  drunken  rollers  comb, 

And  the  shouting  seas  drive  by, 

And  the  engines  stamp  and  ring,  and  the  wet  bows  reel  and  swing, 
And  the  Southern  Cross  rides  high  ! 

Yes,  the  old  lost  stars  wheel  back,  dear  lass. 

That  blaze  in  the  velvet  blue, 

They're  all  old  friends  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail,  the 

out  trail, 

They're  God's  own  guides  on  the  Long  Trail — the  trail  that 
is  always  new. 

Fly  forward,  O  my  heart,  from  the  Foreland  to  the  Start — 
We're  steaming  all  too  slow, 
And  it's  twenty  thousand  mile  to  our  little  lazy  isle 
Where  the  trumpet-orchids  blow  ! 

You  have  heard  the  call  of  the  off-shore  wind 
And  the  voice  of  the  deep-sea  rain  ; 
You  have  heard  the  song — how  long  !  how  long  ! 
Pull  out  on  the  trail  again  ! 

The  Lord  knows  what  we  may  find,  dear  lass. 

And  the  deuce  knows  what  we  may  do — 

But  we're  back  once  more  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail, 

the  out  trail, 
We're  down,  hull  down  on  the  Long  Trail — the  trail  that  is 

always   new. 

RUDYARD  KIPLING. 

A  great  sea-song ;  we  are  on  board  passing  through  scene  after  scene 
and  feeling  the  very  movement  of  the  ship  and  its  gear. 

WISDOM  and  Spirit  of  the  universe  ! 
Thou  soul  that  art  the  eternity  of  thought 
That  givest  to  forms  and  images  a  breath 
And  everlasting  motion,  not  in  vain 
By  day  or  star-light  thus  from  my  first  dawn 
Of  childhood  didst  thou  intertwine  for  me 
The  passions  that  build  up  our  human  soul ; 
Not  with  the  mean  and  vulgar  works  of  man, 
But  with  high  objects,  with  enduring  things — 
With  life  and  nature — purifying  thus 
The  elements  of  feeling  and  of  thought, 
And   sanctifying,   by   such  discipline, 
Both  pain  and  fear,  until  we  recognize 
A  grandeur  in  the  beatings  of  the  heart. 

WORDSWORTH 
(The  Prelude,  Bk.  I). 


PAINE  247 

THE  Quakers  have  contracted  themselves  too  much  by  leaving 
the  works  of  God  out  of  their  system.  Though  I  reverence  their 
philanthropy,  I  can  not  help  srniling  at  the  conceit,  that,  if  the 
taste  of  a  Quaker  could  have  been  consulted  at  the  creation, 
what  a  silent  and  drab-coloured  creation  it  would  have  been  ! 
Not  a  flower  would  have  blossomed  its  gaieties,  nor  a  bird  been 
permitted  to  sing. 

THOMAS  PAINE 
(The  Age  of  Reason}. 


This  quotation  reminds  me  of  an  interesting  passage  in  Professor 
Bateson's  Presidential  Address  to  the  British  Association  at  Melbourne 
in  1914.  Although  it  has  not  a  very  close  connection  with  the  quotation 
the  reader  will  not  object  to  my  giving  it  a  place  here  : — 

"  Everyone  must  have  a  preliminary  sympathy  with  the  aims  of 
eugenists  both  abroad  and  at  home.  Their  efforts  at  the  least  are  doing 
something  to  discover  and  spread  truth  as  to  the  physiological  structure 
of  society.  The  spread  of  such  organisations,  however,  almost  of  necessity 
suffers  from  a  bias  towards  the  accepted  and  the  ordinary,  and  if  they 
had  power  it  would  go  hard  with  many  ingredients  of  society  that  could 
be  ill-spared.  I  notice  an  ominous  passage  in  which  even  Galton,  the 
founder  of  eugenics,  feeling  perhaps  some  twinge  of  his  Quaker  ancestry, 
remarks  that  '  as  the  Bohemianism  in  the  nature  of  our  race  is  destined  to 
perish,  the  sooner  it  goes,  the  happier  for  mankind.'  It  is  not  the  eugenists 
who  will  give  us  what  Plato  has  called  '  divine  releases  from  the  common 
ways.'  If  some  fancier  with  the  catholicity  of  Shakespeare  would  take 
us  in  hand,  well  and  good  ;  but  I  would  not  trust  Shakespeares,  meeting 
as  a  committee.  Let  us  remember  that  Beethoven's  father  was  an  habitual 
drunkard  and  that  his  mother  died  of  consumption.  From  the  genealogy 
of  the  patriarchs  also  we  learn — what  may  very  well  be  the  truth — that 
the  fathers  of  such  as  dwell  in  tents,  and  of  all  such  as  handle  the  harp 
or  organ,  and  the  instructor  of  every  artificer  in  brass  or  iron — the  founders, 
that  is  to  say,  of  the  arts  and  the  sciences — came  in  direct  descent  from  Cain, 
and  not  in  the  posterity  of  the  irreproachable  Seth,  who  is  to  us,  as  he 
probably  was  also  in  the  narrow  circle  of  his  own  contemporaries,  what 
naturalists  call  a  nomen  nudum." 

Nomen  nudum  is  a  bare  name  without  further  particulars,  but  Donne, 
no  doubt  on  the  authority  of  Josephus  (I.  2.3),  attributes  Astronomy  to 
Seth  ("  The  Progresse  of  the  Soule  ")  :— 

Wonder  with  mee 

Why  plowing,  building,  ruling  and  the  rest, 
Or  most  of  those  Arts  whence  our  lives  are  blest, 
By  cursed  Cain's  race  invented  be, 
And  blest  Seth  vext  us  with  Astronomic. 

Donne  (1573-1631)  is  "vext"  with  Astronomy,  presumably  because 
at  that  time  Kepler  (1571-1630)  and  Galileo  (1564-1642)  were  affirming  the 
Copernican  system  and  making  other  discoveries  supposed  to  be  dangerous 
to  religion. 


248  ROSSETTI— STEPHEN 

SOME  prize  his  blindfold  sight ;  and  there  be  they 
Who  kissed  his  wings  which  brought  him  yesterday 
And  thank  his  wings  to-day  that  he  is  flown. 

D.  G.  ROSSETTI 
(Love's  Lovers}. 

A  SONNET 

TWO  voices  are  there  :  one  is  of  the  deep  ; 

It  learns  the  storm-cloud's  thunderous  melody, 

Now,  roars,  now  murmurs  with  the  changing  sea, 

Now  bird-like  pipes  now  closes  soft  in  sleep  : 

And  one  is  of  an  old  half-witted  sheep 

Which  bleats  articulate  monotony, 

And  indicates  that  two  and  one  are  three, 

That  grass  is  green,  lakes  damp  and  mountains  steep 

And,  Wordsworth,  both  are  thine  :  at  certain  times 

Forth  from  the  heart  of  thy  melodious  rhymes, 

The  form  and  pressure  of  high  thoughts  will  burst  : 

At  other  times — good  Lord  !  I'd  rather  be 

Quite  unacquainted  with  the  A. B.C. 

Than  write  such  hopeless  rubbish  as  thy  worst. 

JAMES  KENNETH  STEPHEN  (1859-1893). 


"  Two  Voices  are  there ;  one  is  of  the  sea,"  is  Wordsworth's  fine 
sonnet  on  the  subjugation  of  Switzerland. 

It  is  certainly  extraordinary  how  the  great  poet  at  times  dropped 
into  the  most  prosaic  language  and  commonplace  verse.  This,  however, 
was  only  in  his  earlier  poems  and  only  in  a  few  of  those  poems.  His  theory 
at  that  time  was  that  poetic  language  should  be  natural,  such  as  used  by 
ordinary  men,  and  not  essentially  different  from  prose.  Actually,  however, 
at  the  root  of  the  matter  was  his  want  of  any  sense  of  humour.  Only  so 
can  we  account  for  his  beginning  a  poem  "  Spade  !  with  which  Wilkinson 
hath  tilled  his  lands,"  or  writing  absurdly  babyish  verses.  The  one  instance 
on  record  in  which  he  did  apparently  exhibit  a  grotesque  kind  of  humour 
was  in  a  verse  of  Peter  Bell : — 

Is  it  a  party  in  a  parlour  ? 

Cramm'd  just  as  they  on  earth  were  cramm'd — 
Some  sipping  punch,  some  sipping  tea, 
But,  as  you  by  their  faces  see, 
All  silent  and  all  damn'd. 

But  this  he  no  doubt  wrote  quite  seriously  and  without  any  idea  that  the 
verse  was  humorous.  Shelley  placed  this  verse  at  the  head  of  his  parody 
of  Peter  Bell,  and  Wordsworth  omitted  it  from  the  poem  after  1819. 


BROWNING  AND  OTHERS  249 

AND,  were  I  not,  as  a  man  may  say,  cautious 

How  I  trench,   more  than  needs,   on  the  nauseous. 

I  could  favour  you  with  sundry  touches 

Of  the  paint-smutches  with  which  the  Duchess 

Heightened  the  mellowness  of  her  cheek's  yellowness 

(To  get  on  faster)  until  at  last  her 

Cheek  grew  to  be  one  master-plaster 

Of  mucus  and  fucus  from  mere  use  of  ceruse  ; 

In  short,  she  grew  from  scalp  to  udder 

Just  the  object  to  make  you  shudder. 

R.   BROWNING 
(The  Flight  of  the  Duchess). 


DAY  is  dying  !     Float,  O  Song, 

Down  the  westward  river, 
Requiem  chanting  to  the  Day — 

Day,   the  mighty  Giver. 

Pierced  by  shafts  of  Time  he  bleeds. 

Melted  rubies  sending 
Through  the  river  and  the  sky, 

Earth  and  heaven  blending ; 

All  the  long-drawn  earthy  banks 

Up  to  cloud-land  lifting  : 
vSlow  between  them  drifts  the  swan, 

'Twixt  two  heavens  drifting. 

Whigs  half  open,  like  a  flow'r 

Inly   deeper   flushing, 
Neck  and  breast  as  virgin's  pure — 

Virgin  proudly  blushing. 

Day  is  dying  !     Float,  O  swan, 

Down  the  ruby  river; 
Follow,  song,  in  requiem 

To  the  mighty  Giver. 

GEORGE  EUOT 
(The  Spanish  Gypsy). 


NATURE,  and  nature's  laws,  lay  hid  in  night : 
God  said,  "  I^et  Newton  be  !  "  and  all  was  light. 

POPE 


2jo  TENNYSON  AND  OTHERS 

WHATEVER  crazy  sorrow  saith, 

No  life  that  breathes  with  human  breath 

Has  ever  truly  longed  for  death. 

'Tis  life,  whereof  our  nerves  are  scant, 
Oh,  life,  not  death,  for  which  we  pant ; 
More  life,  and  fuller,  that  we  want. 

TENNYSON. 
(The  Two  Voices). 

It  is,  perhaps,  true  that  no  one  at  any  time  longs  for  death  ;  and 
that  our  desire  is  for  "  more  life  and  fuller."  But  men  have  for  various 
reasons  longed  to  die,  though  they  may  not  have  longed  for  death.  There 
are  those  to  whom  the  remainder  of  life  will  be  one  torment  of  pain  to  them- 
selves and  a  continuous  mental  distress  to  their  friends  ;  and  there  have 
been  men  of  firm  religious  belief  who  desired  to  pass  into  a  nobler  life 
beyond  the  grave.  Again,  Richard  Hodgson  definitely  assured  me  in 
1897  that  he  wished  to  die.  He  was  absolutely  satisfied  with  the  evidence 
of  survival  after  death,  which  he  had  had  in  connection  with  the  Society 
for  Psychical  Research ;  and  his  desire  was  to  "  pass  over  "  and  be  with 
the  friends  with  whom  for  years  he  had  been  in  communication.  Hodgson 
was  incapable  of  saying  anything  insincere. 


REMEMBER  what  Simonides  said — that  he  never  repented 
that  he  had  held  his  tongue,  but  often  that  he  had  spoken. 

Pl,UTARCH 

(Morals). 


NOT  the  truth  of  which  a  man  is  or  believes  himself  to  be  pos- 
sessed, but  the  earnest  efforts  which  he  has  made  to  attain  truth, 
make  the  worth  of  the  man.  For  it  is  not  through  the  posses- 
sion of,  but  through  the  search  for  truth,  that  he  develops  those 
powers  in  which  alone  consists  his  ever-growing  perfection. 
Possession  makes  the  mind  stagnant,  indolent,  proud. 

If  God  held  in  His  right  hand  all  truth,  and  in  His  left  the  ever- 
living  desire  for  truth — although  with  the  condition  that  I  should 
remain  in  error  for  ever — and  if  He  said  to  me  "  Choose,"  I  should 
humbly  bow  before  His  left  hand,  and  say  "  Father,  give  ;  pure 
truth  is  for  Thee  alone." 

LESSING  (1729-1781) 

Wolfenbiittel  Fragments 


MEREDITH  AND  OTHERS  251 

When  Lessing  wrote  this  famous  passage  he  was  contending  that 
criticism  should  be  absolutely  free  in  regard  to  religious,  as  to  all  other, 
•ubjects.  "  The  argument  on  which  he  chiefly  relies  is  that  the  Bible 
cannot  be  considered  necessary  to  a  belief  in  Christianity,  since  Christianity 
was  a  living  and  conquering  power  before  the  New  Testament  in  its  present 
form  was  recognised  by  the  church.  The  true  evidence  for  what  is  essen- 
tial in  Christianity,  he  contends,  is  its  adaptation  to  the  wants  of  human 
nature ;  hence  the  religious  spirit  is  undisturbed  by  the  speculations  of  the 
boldest  thinkers."  (Encyclopaedia  Britannica). 


THE  light  of  every  soul  burns  upward.     Let  us  allow  for  atmos- 
pheric disturbance. 

G.  MEREDITH 

(Diana  of  the  Crossways). 


HUMAN  life  may  be  painted  according  to  two  methods.  There 
is  the  stage  method.  According  to  that,  each  character  is  duly 
marshalled  at  first,  and  ticketed  ;  we  know  with  an  immutable 
certainty  that,  at  the  right  crises,  each  one  will  reappear  and  act 
his  part,  and,  when  the  curtain  falls,  all  will  stand  before  it 
bowing.  There  is  a  sense  of  satisfaction  in  this — and  of  com- 
pleteness. But  there  is  another  method — the  method  of  the  life 
we  all  lead.  Here  nothing  can  be  prophesied.  There  is  a  strange 
coming  and  going  of  feet.  Men  appear,  act  and  re-act  upon  each 
other,  and  pass  away.  When  the  crisis  comes,  the  man  who 
would  fit  it  does  not  return.  When  the  curtain  falls,  no  one  is 
ready.  When  the  footlights  are  brightest  they  are  blown  out ; 
and  what  the  name  of  the  play  is  no  one  knows.  If  there  sits 
a  spectator  who  knows,  he  sits  so  high  that  the  players  in  the 
gaslight  cannot  hear  his  breathing. 

OlJVE  SCHREINER 
(The  Story  of  an  African  Farm). 

This  is  from  the  preface  to  the  second  edition.  This  book  must  be 
unique,  for  surely  no  other  girl  in  her  teens  has  written  a  book  so  brilliant 
in  itself  and  indicating  such  originality  and  genius.  It  is  a  great  loss  to 
literature  that  the  writer  became  entirely  absorbed  in  South  African  politics 
and  controversy. 


I  NEVER  knew  any  man  in  my  life  who  could  not  bear  another's 
misfortunes  perfectly  like  a  Christian. 

ALEXANDER  POPE- 


252  WHITE 

NIGHT  AND  DEATH 

MYSTERIOUS  Night !  when  our  first  parent  knew 
Thee  from  report  divine,  and  heard  thy  name, 
Did  he  not  tremble  for  this  lovely  frame, 

This  glorious  canopy  of  light  and  blue  ? 

Yet  'neath  a  curtain  of  translucent  dew, 
Bathed  in  the  rays  of  the  great  setting  flame, 
Hesperus  with  the  host  of  heaven  came, 

And  lo  !  creation  widened  in  man's  view. 

Who  could  have  thought  such  darkness  lay  concealed 
Within  thy  beams,  O  Sun  !  or  who  could  find, 

Whilst  fly  and  leaf  and  insect  stood  revealed, 

That  to  such  countless  orbs  thou  mad'st  us  blind  ! 
Why  do  we  then  shun  Death  with  anxious  strife  ? 
If  Light  can  thus  deceive,  wherefore  not  Life  ? 

J.  BI.ANCO  WHITE  (1775-18411. 

(See  preface.)  This  sonnet,  apart,  from  its  great  excellence,  is  a  remark- 
able literary  curiosity.  By  this  one  poem  alone  Blanco  White  achieved 
a  lasting  reputation  as  a  poet.  The  point  is  that  this  is  bis  only 
poem.  He  certainly  had  previously  written  a  sonnet  of  little  merit 
on  survival  after  death,  but  "Night  and  Death"  was  apparently  an 
inspired  transfiguration  of  his  earlier  effort.  It  is  a  startling  instance  of 
inspiration  coming  to  a  man  once  only  in  his  life — and  then  coming 
in  its  very  highest  form.  There  are  other  poets,  whose  work  is  generally 
of  poor  quality,  but  who  have  each  produced  one  surprisingly  good  poem 
which  alone  keeps  their  memory  alive.  An  instance  of  this  is  Christopher 
Smart  (1722-1771),  who  wrote  several  volumes  of  verse  but  only  one  fine 
poem,  the  "  Song  of  David."  Charles  Wolfe  (1791-1823)  is  also  known 
only  by  his  "  Burial  of  Sir  John  Moore,"  but  has  other  poems,  though 
forgotten,  are  said  to  have  had  some  merit. 

The  sonnet  is  also  interesting  for  another  reason.  White's  family 
had  settled  in  Spain  for  two  generations,  his  grandfather  having  changed 
his  name  to  Blanco.  His  mother  was  Spanish,  he  was  educated  in  Spain, 
and  became  a  Spanish  priest,  and  he  did  not  leave  for  England  until  1810, 
when  thirty-five  years  of  age.  Yet  White's  beautiful  thought  could  hardly 
be  expressed  in  finer  language.  There  is,  however,  one  defect  in  the  words 
"  fly  and  leaf  and  insect."  (William  Sharp  courageously  altered  "  fly  " 
into  "  flower.") 

Coleridge  thought  this  "  the  finest  and  most  grandly  conceived  sonnet 
in  our  language."  Leigh  Hunt  said  that  in  point  of  thought  it  "  stands 
supreme,  perhaps,  above  all  in  any  language :  nor  can  we  ponder  it  too 
deeply,  or  with  too  hopeful  a  reverence." 


I  SLEEP,  I  eat  and  drink,  I  read  and  meditate,  I  walk  in  my 
neighbour's  pleasant  fields  and  see  the  varieties  of  natural  beauties, 
and  delight  in  all  that  in  which  God  delights — that  is,  in  virtue 


TAYLOR  AND  OTHERS  253 

and  wisdom,  in  the  whole  creation,  and  in  God  Himself.  And  he, 
that  hath  so  many  causes  of  joy,  and  so  great,  is  very  much  in  love 
with  sorrow  and  peevishness,  who  loses  all  these  pleasures,  and 
chooses  to  sit  down  upon  his  little  handful  of  thorns. 

JEREMY  TAYU)R. 


IN  my  Progress  travelling  Northward, 
Taking  farewell  of  the  vSouthward, 
To  B anbury  came  I,  O  prophane-One  ! 
Where  I  saw  a  Puritane-One 
Hanging  of  his  Cat  on  Monday, 
For  killing  of  a  Mouse  on  Sunday. 

R.  BRATHWAITE  (1638) 
(Drunken  Barnaby). 


O  THE  Spring  will  come, 
And  once  again  the  wind  be  in  the  West, 
Breathing  the  odour  of  the  sea ;  and  life, 
Life  that  was  ugly,  and  work  that  grew  a  curse, 
Be  God's  best  gifts  again,  and  in  your  heart 
You'll  find  once  more  the  dreams  you  thought  were  dead. 

H.  D.  LOWRY 
(In  Covent  Garden). 


OF  such  as  he  was,  there  be  few  on  Earth  ; 
Of  such  as  he  is,  there  are  many  in  Heaven  ; 
And  Life  is  all  the  sweeter  that  he  lived, 
And  all  he  loved  more  sacred  for  his  sake  : 
And  Death  is  all  the  brighter  that  he  died, 
And  Heaven  is  all  the  happier  that  he's  there. 

GERALD  MASSEY 
(In  Memoriam] . 


ONLY  SEVEN 
(A   Pastoral  Story,  after  Wordsworth.} 

I  MARVELLED  why  a  simple  child 
That  lightly  draws  its  breath 

Should  utter  groans  so  very  wild, 
And  look  as  pale  as  Death. 


254  LEIGH 


Adopting    a   parental    tone, 
I  asked  her  why  she  cried  ; 

The  damsel  answered,  with  a  groan, 
"  I've  got  a  pain  inside. 

"  I  thought  it  would  have  sent  me  mad 

Last  night  about  eleven." 
Said  I,  "  What  is  it  makes  you  bad  ? 
How  many  apples  have  you  had  ?  " 

She  answered,  "  Only  seven  !  " 

"  And  are  you  sure  you  took  no  more, 
My   little  maid  ?  "    quoth   I. 

"  Oh  !  please  sir,  mother  gave  me  four, 
But  they  were  in  a  pie  !" 

"  If  that's  the  case,"  I  stammered  out, 
"  Of  course  you've  had  eleven." 

The  maiden  answered,  with  a  pout, 
"  I  ain't  had  more  nor  seven !  " 


I  wondered  hugely  what  she  meant, 
And  said,  "  I'm  bad  at  riddles, 

But  I  know  where  little  girls  are  sent 
For    telling    tarrididdles. 

"Now,  if  you  don't  reform,"  said  I, 
"  You'll  never  go  to  heaven." 

But  all  in  vain  ;  each  time  I  try, 

That  little  idiot  makes  reply, 
"  I  ain't  had  more  nor  seven  "  ! 


POSTSCRIPT. 

To  borrow  Wordsworth's  name  was  wrong, 

Or  slightly  misapplied  ; 
And  so  I'd  better  call  my  song, 

"  Lines  after  Ache-inside." 

HENRY  SAMBROOKE  LEIGH. 


It  seems  wicked  to  travesty  Wordsworth's  tender  little  poem,  but 
Leigh's  verses  amused  us  greatly  when  they  appeared.  Mark  Akenside 
1721-1770)  is  a  poet  now  almost  forgotten. 


ROSSETTI  AND  OTHERS  255 

THE  hour,  which  might  have  been,  yet  might  not  be, 
Which  man's  and  woman's  heart  conceived  and  bore 
Yet  whereof  life  was  barren, — on  what  shore 

Bides  it  the  breaking  of  Time's  weary  sea  ? 

D.  G.  ROSSETTI 

(Stillborn   Love). 


OUR  delight  ill  the  sunshine  on  the  deep-bladed  grass  to-day 
might  be  no  more  than  the  faint  perception  of  wearied  souls, 
if  it  were  not  for  the  sunshine  and  the  grass  in  those  far-off 
days  which  live  in  us,  and  transfonn  our  perception  into  love. 

GEORGE  EWOT 
(Mill  on  the  Floss) 


THE  firmaments  of  daisies  since  to  me 
Have  had  those  mornings  in  their  opening  eyes  ; 
The  bunched  cowslip's  pale  transparency 
Carries  that  sunshine  of  sweet  memories, 
And  wild-rose  branches  take  their  finest  scent 
From  those  blest  hours  of  infantine  content. 

GEORGE  EUOT 
(Brother  and  Sister.) 

It  will  be  observed  that  the  thought  is  the  same  in  both  passages. 


GET  thee  behind  the  man  I  am  now, 
You  man  that  I  used  to  be. 

R.  BROWNING 

(Martin  Relph). 


FOR  my  own  part,  I  could  not  look  but  with  wonder  and  respect 
on  the  Chinese.  Their  forefathers  watched  the  stars  before  mine 
had  begun  to  keep  pigs.  Gunpowder  and  printing,  which  the 
other  day  we  imitated,  and  a  school  of  manners  which  we  never 
had  the  delicacy  so  much  as  to  desire  to  imitate,  were  theirs  in  a 
long-past  antiquity.  They  walk  the  earth  with  us.  but  it  seems 
they  must  be  of  different  clay.  They  hear  the  clock  strike  the 


256  STEVENSON  AND  OTHERS 

same  hour,  yet  surely  of  a  different  epoch.  They  travel  by  steam 
conveyance,  yet  with  such  baggage  of  old  Asiatic  thoughts  and 
superstitions  as  might  check  the  locomotive  in  its  course.  What- 
ever is  thought  within  the  circuit  of  the  Great  Wall ;  what  the 
wry-eyed,  spectacled  schoolmaster  teaches  in  the  hamlets  round 
Pekin  ;  religions  so  old  that  our  language  looks  a  halfling  boy 
alongside  ;  philosophy  so  wise  that  our  best  philosophers  find 
things  therein  to  wonder  at ;  all  this  travelled  alongside  of  me 
for  thousands  of  miles  over  plain  and  mountain.  Heaven 
knows  if  we  had  one  common  thought  or  fancy  all  that  way, 
or  whether  our  eyes,  which  yet  were  formed  upon  the  same 
design,  beheld  the  same  world  out  of  the  railway  windows.  And 
when  either  of  us  turned  his  thoughts  to  home  and  childhood, 
what  a  strange  dissimilarity  must  there  not  have  been  in  these 
pictures  of  the  mind — when  I  beheld  that  old,  gray,  castled  city, 
high  throned  above  the  firth,  with  the  flag  of  Britain  flying,  and 
the  red-coat  sentry  pacing  over  all  ;  and  the  man  in  the  next  car 
to  me  would  conjure  up  some  junks  and  a  pagoda  and  a  fort 
of  porcelain,  and  call  it,  with  the  same  affection,  home. 

R.  L.  STEVENSON 
(Across  the  Plains). 


I  AI/WAYS  wanted  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it ; 

And  now  it  is  made — why,  my  heart's  blood,  that  went 

trickle, 

Trickle,  but  anon,  in  such  muddy  driblets, 
Is  pumped  up  brisk  now,  through  the  main  ventricle, 
And  genially  floats  me  about  the  giblets. 

R.    BROWNING 
(The  Flight  of  the  Duchess). 


A  MAN  should  never  be  ashamed  to  own  that  he  has  been  in 
the  wrong,  which  is  but  saying  that  he  is  wiser  to-day  than  he 
was  yesterday. 

ALEXANDER   POPE. 


WE  have  all  of  us  considerable  regard  for  our  past  self,  and 
are  not  fond  of  casting  reflections  on  that  respected  individual 
by  a  total  negation  of  his  opinions. 

GEORGE  EUOT 

(Scenes  from  Clerical  Life). 


CHOUGH— BAIL,EY  257 

SAY     NOT     THE     STRUGGLE     NOUGHT 
AVAILETH 

SAY  not,  the  struggle  nought  availeth, 

The  labour  and  the  wounds  are  vain, 
The  enemy  faints  not,  nor  faileth, 

And  as  things  have  been  they  remain. 

If  hopes  were  dupes,  fears  may  be  liars  ; 

It  may  be,  in  yon  smoke  concealed, 
Your  comrades  chase  e'en  now  the  fliers, 

And,  but  for  you,  possess  the  field. 

For  while  the  tired  waves,  vainly  breaking, 

Seem  here  no  painful  inch  to  gain, 
Far  back,  through  creeks  and  inlets  making, 

Comes  silent,  flooding  in,  the  main ; 

And  not  by  eastern  windows  only, 

When  daylight  comes.,  comes  in  the  light ; 

In  front,  the  sun  climbs  slow,  how  slowly  ! 
But  westward,  look,  the  land  is  bright ! 

A.  H.  Ci,OUCH. 


THE  gravest  fish  is  an  oyster, 
The  gravest  bird  is  an  owl, 
The  gravest  beast  is  a  donkey, 
And  the  gravest  man  is  a  fool. 

SCOTCH  PROVERB. 


.  .  .  FEAR 

No  petty  customs  nor  appearances  ; 
But  think  what  others  only  dreamed  about ; 
And  say  what  others  did  but  think  ;  and  do 
What  others  did  but  say  ;  and  glory  in 
What  others  dared  but  do. 

Pimjp  J.  BAILEY 
(My  Lady). 


THE  Cynic  in  society  becomes  the  Pessimist  in  religion.  The 
large  embrace  of  sympathy,  which  fails  him  as  interpreter  of  human 
life,  will  no  less  be  wanting  when  he  reads  the  meaning  of  the 
universe.  The  harmony  of  the  great  whole  escapes  him  in  his 

17 


258  MARTINEAU  AND  OTHERS 

hunt  for  little  discords  here  and  there.  He  is  blind  to  the 
august  balance  of  nature,  in  his  preoccupation  with  some 
creaking  show  of  defect.  He  misses  the  comprehensive  march 
of  advancing  purpose,  because  while  he  himself  is  in  it,  he  has 
found  some  halting  member  that  seems  to  lag  behind.  He  picks 
holes  in  the  universal  order  ;  he  winds  through  its  tracks  as  a 
detective,  and  makes  scandals  of  all  that  is  not  to  his  mind  ; 
trusts  nothing  that  he  cannot  see  :  and  he  sees  chiefly  the  excep- 
tional, the  dubious,  the  harsh.  The  glory  of  the  midnight 
heavens  affects  him  not,  for  thinking  of  a  shattered  planet  or 
the  uninhabitable  moon.  He  makes  more  of  the  flood  which 
sweeps  the  crop  away,  than  of  the  perpetual  river  that  feeds 
it  year  by  year.  For  him  the  purple  bloom  upon  the  hills,  peering 
through  the  young  green  woods,  does  but  dress  up  a  stony 
desert  with  deceitful  beauty  ;  and  in  the  new  birth  of  summer, 
he  cannot  yield  himself  to  the  exuberance  of  glad  existence  for 
wonder  why  insects  tease  and  nettles  sting.  Nothing  is  so  fair, 
nothing  so  imposing,  as  to  beguile  him  into  faith  and  hope.  .  .  . 
In  selfish  minds  the  same  temper  resorts  to  the  pettiest  reasons 
for  the  most  desolating  thoughts  :  "If  God  were  good,  why 
should  I  be  born  with  a  club-foot  ?  If  the  world  were  justly 
governed  how  could  my  merits  be  so  long  overlooked  ?  " 

J.  MARTINEAU 
(Hours  of  Thought,  I,  97). 

Reverting  to  this  subject  later,  Martineau  says  (Hours  of  Thought  //., 
354)  "  Wherever  he  moves,  he  empties  the  space  around  him  of  its  purest 
elements ;  with  his  low  thought  he  roofs  it  over  from  the  heavenly  light 
and  the  sweet  air;  and  then  complains  of  the  world  as  a  close-breathed 
and  stifling  place." 


CYNICISM  is  intellectual  dandyism  without  the  coxcomb's 
feathers;  and  it  seems  to  me  that  cynics  are  only  happy  in 
making  the  world  as  barren  to  others  as  they  have  made  it  for 
themselves. 

GEORGE  MEREDITH 
(The  Egoist). 


AND  there's  none  of  them,  but  would  as  soon 

Criticize  the  Almighty  as  not, 
And  see  that  the  angels  kept  tune 
And  watch  that  the  sun  and  the  moon 
Did  not  squander  the  light  they  have  got. 
W.  C.  SMITH 
(Borland  Hall). 


SWINBURNE  AND  OTHERS  259 

LOVE,  that  is  first  and  last  of  all  things  made, 

The  light  that  has  the  living  world  for  shade, 

The  spirit  that  for  temporal  veil  has  on 

The  souls  of  all  men  woven  in  unison, 

One  fiery  raiment  with  all  lives  inwrought 

And  lights  of  sunny  and  starry  deed  and  thought  .  .  . 

Love,  that  keeps  all  the  choir  of  lives  in  chime  ; 

Love,  that  is  blood  within  the  veins  of  time.  .  .  . 

Love,  that  sounds  loud  or  light  in  all  men's  ears, 

Whence  all  men's  eyes  take  fire  from  sparks  of  tears, 

That  binds  on  all  men's  feet  or  chains  or  wings  ; 

Love,  that  is  root  and  fruit  of  terrene  tilings  ; 

Love,  that  the  whole  world's  waters  shall  not  drown, 

The  whole  world's  fiery  forces  not  burn  down  ; 

Love,  that  what  time  his  own  hands  guard  his  head 

The  whole  world's  wrath  and  strength  shall  not  strike  dead  ; 

I<ove,  that  if  once  his  own  hands  make  his  grave 

The  whole  world's  pity  and  sorrow  shall  not  save  .  .  . 

Love  that  is  fire  within  thee  and  light  above, 

And  lives  by  grace  of  nothing  but  of  love. 

SWINBURNE 
(Tristram  of  Lyonesse). 


MY  tantalized  spirit 

Here  blandly  reposes, 
Forgetting,  or  never 

Regretting,  its  roses. 

E.  A.  POE 

(For  Annie). 

NOW,  for  myself,  when  once  the  wick  is  crushed, 

I  ask  not  where  the  light  is,  which  is  not, 

Nor  where  the  music,  when  the  harp  is  hushed. 

Nor  where  the  memory,  which  is  clean  forgot. 

W.  C.  SMITH 
(Borland  Hall.) 


GOETHE  says  somewhere  there  is  something  in  every  man 
for  which,  if  we  only  knew  it.  we  would  hate  him.  I  would  prefer 
to  say  that  there  is  something  in  every  man  for  which,  if  we  only 
knew  it,  we  would  love  him. 

R.  HODGSON 

(Letter). 


260  SEARS  AND  OTHERS 

FOR  us  no  shadow  on  Life's  solemn  dial 

Goes  back  to  give  us  peace  ; 
There  is  no  resting-place  in  the  stern  trial 

Until  the  heart-throbs  cease  ; 
We  cannot  hold  Time  fast,  and  bid  him  bless  us  , 

And  not  for  us  the  sun, 

.   When  shades  fall  fast,  and  doubts  and  woes  oppress  us, 
Stands  still  in  Gibeon. 

E.  H.  SEARS. 


HERE'S  my  case.     Of  old  I  used  to  love  him 

This  same  unseen  friend,  before  I  knew  : 
Dream  there  was  none  like  him,  none  above  him, — 

Wake  to  hope  and  trust  my  dream  was  true 

All  my  days,  I'll  go  the  softlier,  sadlier, 

For  that  dream's  sake  !     How  forget  the  thrill 
Through  and  through  me  as  I  thought  "  The  gladlier 
Lives  my  friend  because  I  love  him  still !  " 

R.   BROWNING 
(Fears  and  Scruples). 

The  "  Friend  "  is  God.  The  lines  "  All  my  days,  I'll  go  the  softlier, 
sadlier,  For  that  dream's  sake,"  seem  to  me  very  beautiful.  In  so  few 
words  Browning,  with  dramatic  insight,  expresses  the  feeling  of  a  Renan 
or  George  Eliot  after  they  had  lost  their  faith  in  Christianity. 


THE  world  is  his,  who  can  see  through  its  pretension.  What 
deafness,  what  stone-blind  custom,  what  overgrown  error  you 
behold,  is  there  only  by  sufferance — by  your  sufferance.  See 
it  to  be  a  lie,  and  you  have  already  dealt  it  its  mortal  blow.  .  .  . 

In  proportion  as  a  man  has  anything  in  him  divine,  the  fir- 
mament flows  before  him  and  takes  his  signet  and  form.  Not 
he  is  great  who  can  alter  matter,  but  he  who  can  alter  my  state 
of  mind.  They  are  the  kings  of  the  world  who  give  the  colour  of 

their  present  thought  to  all  nature  and  all  art The  great 

man  makes  the  great  thing.  .  .  Linnaeus  makes  botany  the  most 
alluring  of  studies,  and  wins  it  from  the  farmer  and  the  herb- 
woman  ;  Davy,  chemistry;  and  Cuvier,  fossils.  The  day  is  always 
his,  who  works  in  it  with  serenity  and  great  aims.  The  unstable 
estimates  of  men  crowd  to  him  whose  mind  is  filled  with  a  truth, 
as  the  heaped  waves  of  the  Atlantic  follow  the  moon. 

EMERSON 
(The  American  Scholar.) 


STETSON  261 

CANTAT  Deo,  qui  vivit  Deo. 
(He  sings  to  God,  who  lives  to  God.) 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACED. 

Jenny  Lind  used  to  say,  "  I  sing  to  God." 
A  CONSERVATIVE 

THE  garden  beds  I  wandered  by 

One  bright  and  cheerful  morn, 
When  I  found  a  new-fledged  butterfly, 

A-sitting  on  a  thorn, 
A  black  and  crimson  butterfly, 

All  doleful  and  forlorn. 

I  thought  that  life  could  have  no  sting 

To  infant  butterflies, 
So  I  gazed  on  this  unhappy  thing 

With  wonder  and  surprise, 
While  sadly  with  his  waving  wing 

He  wiped  his  weeping  eyes. 

Said  I,  "  What  can  the  matter  be  ? 

Why  weepest  thou  so  sore, 
WTith  garden  fair  and  sunlight  free 

And  flowers  in  goodly  store  ?  " — 
But  he  only  turned  away  from  me 

And  burst  into  a  roar. 

Cried  he,  "  My  legs  are  thin  and  few 

Where  once  I  had  a  swarm  ! 
Soft  fuzzy  fur — a  joy  to  view — 

Once  kept  my  body  warm, 
Before  these  flapping  wing-things  grew, 

To  hamper  and  deform  !  " 

At  that  outrageous  bug  I  shot 

The  fury  of  mine  eye  ; 
Said  I,  in  scorn  all  burning  hot, 

In  rage  and  anger  high, 
"  You  ignominious  idiot ! 

Those  wings  are  made  to  fly  !  " 

"  1  do  not  want  to  fly,"  said  he, 

"  I  only  want  to  squirm  !  " 
And  he  dropped  his  wings  dejectedly, 

But  still  his  voice  was  firm  : 
"  I  do  not  want  to  be  a  fly  ! 

I  want  to  be  a  worm  !  '' 


262  STETSON  AND  OTHERS 

0  yesterday  of  unknown  lack  ! 
To-day  of  unknown  bliss  ! 

1  left  my  fool  in  red  and  black, 
The  last  I  saw  was  this, — 

The  creature  madly  climbing  back 
Into    his    chrysalis. 

CHARLOTTE  PERKINS  STETSON. 


THE  very  fiends  weave  ropes  of  sand 
Rather  than  taste  pure  hell  in  idleness. 

R.  BROWNING 

(A   Forgiveness). 

HE  had  formed  several  ingenious  plans  by  which  he  meant  to 
circumvent  people  of  large  fortune  and  small  capacity ;  but 
then  he  never  met  with  exactly  the  right  people  under  exactly 
the  right  circumstances.  ...  It  is  possible  to  pass  a  great 
many  bad  half-pennies  and  bad  half-crowns,  but  I  believe  there 
has  no  instance  been  known  of  passing  a  half-penny  or  a  half- 
crown  for  a  sovereign.  GEORGE  EUOT 

(Brother  Jacob). 

IN  the  old  times  Death  was  a  feverish  sleep, 
In  which  men  walked.    The  other  world  was  cold 
And  thinly-peopled,  so  life's  emigrants 
Came  back  to  mingle  with  the  crowds  of  earth  : 
But  now  great  cities  are  transplanted  thither, 
Memphis,  and  Babylon,  and  either  Thebes, 
And  Priam's  towery  town  with  its  one  beech. 
The  dead  are  most  and  merriest :  so  be  sure 
There  will  be  no  more  haunting,  till  their  towns 
Are  full  to  the  garret ;  then  they'll  shut  their  gates, 
To  keep  the  living  out,  and  perhaps  leave 
A  dead  or  two  between  both  kingdoms. 

T.  L.  BEDDOES 

(Death's  Jest-Book,  III.  3). 
This  is  one  of  the  queer  fancies  in  a  curious  poem. 


EVERY  ship  is  a  romantic  object,  except  that  we  sail  in. 
Embark  and  the  romance  quits  our  vessel,  and  hangs  on  every 
other  sail  in  the  horizon. 

EMERSON 

(Essay  on  Experience). 


ST.  AUGUSTINE  AND  OTHERS  263 

DE  vitiis  nostris  scalam  nobis  facimus,  si  vitia  ipsa  calcannis, 

(We  make  for  ourselves  a  ladder  of  our  vices,  when  we  tread  under 
foot  the  vices  themselves.) 

ST.  AUGUSTINE 
(De  Ascensione). 


I  HELD  it  truth,  with  him  who  sings 
To  one  clear  harp  in  divers  tones, 
That  men  may  rise  on  stepping-stones 
Of  their  dead  selves  to  higher  things. 

TENNYSON 
(In  Memoriarri). 


SAINT  Augustine  !  well  hast  thou  said, 

That  of  our  vices  we  can  frame 
A  ladder,  if  we  will  but  tread 

Beneath  our  feet  each  deed  of  shame  ! 

LONGFEU/OW 

(The  Ladder  of  St.  Augustine). 


THE  trials  that  beset  you, 

The    sorrows    ye    endure, 
The   manifold   temptations 

That  death  alone  can  cure, 

What  are  they  but  His  jewels 

Of  right  celestial  worth  ? 
What  are  they  but  the  ladder 

Set  up  to  Heav'n  on  earth  ? 

j.  M.  NEAI.E 
(O  Happy  Band  of  Pilgrims). 


I  CAN  bear  it  no  longer — this  diabolical  invention  of  gentility, 
which  kills  natural  kindliness  and  honest  friendship.  Proper 
pride,  indeed !  Rank  and  precedence,  forsooth !  The  table 
of  ranks  and  degrees  is  a  lie,  and  should  be  flung  into  the 


264  THACKERAY  AND  OTHERS 

fire.  Organize  rank  and  precedence!  That  was  well  for  the 
masters  of  ceremonies  of  former  ages.  Come  forward,  some 
great  marshal,  and  organize  Equality  in  society. 

THACKERAY 
(Book  of  Snobs). 


II 


EARTH  gets  its  price  for  what  Earth  gives  us  ; 

The  beggar  is  taxed  for  a  corner  to  die  in, 
The  priest  hath  his  fee  who  comes  and  shrives  vis, 

We  bargain  for  the  graves  we  lie  in  ; 
At  the  devil's  booth  are  all  things  sold, 
Each  ounce  of  dross  costs  its  ounce  of  gold  ; 

For  a  cap  and  bells  our  lives  we  pay, 
Bubbles  we  buy  with  a  whole  soul's  tasking  : 

'Tis  heaven  alone  that  is  given  away, 
'Tis  only  God  may  be  had  for  the  asking. 

J.  R. 
(The   Vision  of  Sir  Launfal). 


.  .  .  THE  too  susceptible  Tupman,  who,  to  the  wisdom  and 
experience  of  maturer  years,  superadded  the  enthusiasm  and 
ardour  of  a  boy,  in  the  most  interesting  and  pardonable  of  human 
weaknesses,  lo've.  Time  and  feeding  had  expanded  that  once 
romantic  form  ;  the  black  silk  waistcoat  had  become  more  and 
more  developed  ;  inch  by  inch  had  the  gold  watch-chain  beneath 
it  disappeared  from  within  the  range  of  Tupman's  vision  ;  and 
gradually  had  the  capacious  chin  encroached  upon  the  borders 
of  the  white  cravat ;  but  the  soul  of  Tupman  had  known  no 
change. 

CHARGES  DICKENS 

(Pickwick  Papers). 


THE  globe  has  been  circumnavigated,  but  no  man  ever  yet  has ; 
you  may  survey  a  kingdom  and  note  the  result  in  maps,  but  all 
the  savants  in  the  world  could  not  produce  a  reliable  map  of  the 
poorest  human  personality.  And  the  worst  of  all  this  is,  that  love 
and  friendship  may  be  the  outcome  of  a  certain  condition  of  know- 
ledge ;  increase  the  knowledge,  and  love  and  friendship  beat  their 
wings  and  go.  Every  man's  road  in  life  is  marked  by  the  graves 
of  his  personal  likings.  Intimacy  is  frequently  the  road  to 
indifference  ;  and  marriage  a  parricide. 

ALEXANDER  SMITH 
(The  Importance  of  a  Man  to  Himself). 


GISSING— ARNOLD  265 

I  THINK  sometimes  how  good  it  were  had  I  some  one  by  me  to 
listen  when  I  am  tempted  to  read  a  passage  aloud.  Yes,  but  is 
there  any  mortal  in  the  whole  world  upon  whom  I  could  invariably 
depend  for  sympathetic  understanding — nay,  who  would  even 
generally  be  at  one  with  me  in  my  appreciation  ?  Such  harmony 
of  intelligences  is  the  rarest  thing.  All  through  life  we  long  for 
it  ...  and,  after  all,  we  learn  that  the  vision  is  illusory.  To 
every  man  is  it  decreed  :  Thou  shalt  live  alone. 

GEORGE  GISSING 

(The  Private  Papers  of  Henry  Ryecroft). 


ISOLATION 

YES  !  in  the  sea  of  life  enisled, 

With  echoing  straits  between  us  thrown, 

Dotting  the  shoreless  watery  wild, 

We  mortal  millions  live  alone. 

The  islands  feel  the  enclasping  flow, 

And  then  their  endless  bounds  they  know. 

But  when  the  moon  their  hollows  lights, 
And  they  are  swept  by  balms  of  spring, 
And  in  their  glens,  on  starry  nights, 
The  nightingales  divinely  sing  ; 
And  lovely  notes,  from  shore  to  shore, 
Across  the  sounds  and  channels  pour — 

Oh  !  then  a  longing  like  despair 

Is  to  their  farthest  caverns  sent ; 

For  surely  once,  they  feel,  we  were 

Parts  of  a  single  continent ! 

Now  round  us  spreads  the  watery  plain — 

Oh  might  our  marges  meet  again  ! 

Who  ordered,  that  their  longing's  fire 
Should  be,  as  soon  as  kindled,  cooled  ? 
Who  renders  vain  their  deep  desire  ? 
A  God,  a  God  their  severance  ruled  ! 
And  bade  betwixt  their  shores  to  be 
The  unplumb'd,  salt,  estranging  sea. 

MATTHEW  ARNOLD. 


266  THACKERAY 

This  fine  poem  is  one  of  a  series    called   "  Switzerland,"  which  was 
written  as  the  result  of  Arnold's  meeting  and  falling  in  love  with  a  lady  at 
Berne.     The  poem  immediately  preceding  it  in  the  series  is  entitled  "  Iso- 
lation :  To  Marguerite,"  while  this  is  called  "  To  Marguerite,  Continued  " 
but  as  it  is  now  quoted  separately,  it  is  better  entitled  "  Isolation." 

In  the  preceding  poems  the  lady  has  lost  her  affection  while  her  lover 
is  still  devoted  ;  and  this  leads  to  the  subject  of  our  isolation  from  each  other 
in  our  inner  lives.  In  the  second  verse  the  poet  describes  the  moments 
when  we  most  crave  for  love,  sympathy,  and  mutual  spiritual  understanding 
and  union. 

For  an  interesting  fact  connected  with  this  poem,  see  next  quotation 
and  note. 


(THACKERAY  has  been  describing  how  husband,  wife,  mother, 
son — each  of  the  inmates  of  a  household — is  interested  in  his 
or  her  own  separate  world  and  looking  at  the  same  things  from 
a  different  point  of  view.)  How  lonely  we  are  in  the  world  ! 
You  and  your  wife  have  pressed  the  same  pillow  for  forty  years 
and  fancy  yourselves  united  :  pshaw  !  does  she  cry  out  when 
you  have  the  gout,  or  do  you  lie  awake  when  she  has  the  tooth- 
ache ?  .  .  As  for  your  wife — O  philosophic  reader,  answer 
and  say,  Do  you  tell  her  all  ?  Ah,  sir,  a  distinct  universe  walks 
about  under  your  hat  and  under  mine — all  things  in  nature 
are  different  to  each — the  woman  we  look  at  has  not  the  same 
features,  the  dish  we  eat  from  has  not  the  same  taste  to  the  one 
and  the  other — you  and  I  are  but  a  pair  of  infinite  isolations,  with 
some  fellow-islands  a  little  more  or  less  near  to  us. 

THACKERAY 
(Pendennis,  ch,   XVI) 

The  similarity  between  this  passage  and  the  preceding  poem,  written 
at  about  the  same  time,  is  very  curious.  Arnold's  poem  appeared  in  1852 
but  was  composed  ten  years  earlier,  while  Pendennis  was  published  in 
monthly  parts  in  1849-50.  Therefore,  neither  author  would  consciously 
know  at  the  time  what  the  other  had  written. 

The  incident  is  probably  an  illustration  of  the  mysterious  way  in 
which  minds  influence  one  another  and  create  the  spirit  of  the  particular 
age.  There  is,  I  believe,  a  Chinese  proverb  to  the  effect  that  we  are  more 
the  product  of  our  age  than  of  our  parents.  This  permeating  quality  of 
thought  and  feeling  is,  no  doubt,  the  explanation  why  the  highest  art  and 
literature,  though  often  unappreciated  at  the  time,  become  ultimately 
recognized.  It  appears  not  to  be  sufficiently  taken  into  account  in  other 
directions.  For  instance,  it  is  repeatedly  stated  that  Blake,  because  of 
the  limited  circulation  of  his  poems,  exercised  no  influence  on  the  Romantic 
Revival  -see  for  example  The  Cambridge  History  of  English  Literature, 
Vol.  XI,  201.  Yet  we  know  that  his  work  was  known  to  and  appreciated 
by  Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  Lamb,  Southey,  and  Hayley.  (Although  little 


HODGSON— SEELEY  267 

regarded  now,  Hayley's  fame  was  then  so  great  that  he  was  offered  and 
refused  the  poet-laureateship.  (He  appears  to  be  the  one  man  who  was  an 
intimate  friend  of  both  Blake  and  Cowper.)  While  a  very  long  period 
went  by  before  Blake's  poems  became  generally  known,  their  influence 
may  well  have  been  very  great,  permeating  unconsciously  through  other 
minds.  See  reference  on  p.  194  to  the  similar  case  of  Fitzgerald's  "  Omar 
Khayyam." 

Even  if  a  poem  were  read  by  only  one  person,  it  might  conceivably 
influence  a  generation  of  authors.  Suppose,  if  that  had  been  possible,  a 
page  of  Swinburne's  "  Tristram  of  Lyonesse  "  or  F.  W.  H.  Myers'  "  Implicit 
Promise  "  (both  quoted  elsewhere)  had  been  read  by  Pope  or  Dryden  ; 
how  the  monotonous  heroic  couplet  of  their  time  might  have  been  trans- 
formed ! 


A  CHILD  was  playing  on  a  summer  strand 

That  fringed  the  wavelets  of  a  sunny  sea  : 

The  mother  looked  in  love.     "  Now  build,"  said  she, 

"  Your  splendid  golden  castles  where  you  stand  ; 

But  when  the  wave  has  beaten  all  to  sand, 

You  must  go  home."     "  Ah,  not  so  soon,"  said  he. 

And  now  the  night  has  darkened  out  his  glee, 
And  sad-eyed  Grief  has  grasped  him  by  the  hand. 
No  more  the  years  shall  find  him  free  and  wild 
And  madly  merry  as  a  bright  brave  bird  : 
For  earth  has  nothing  like  the  home  he  craves 
And  pauseless  Time  is  beating  bitter  waves 
On  all  his  palaces.     He  waits  the  word 
Away  beyond  the  blue,  "  Come  home,  my  child." 

R.HODGSON,  1879. 

An  impromptu  written  when  the  mother  and  child  incident  happened 
and  not  revised. 


HUMANITY  is  neither  a  love  for  the  whole  human  race,  nor  a  love 
for  each  individual  of  it,  but  a  love  for  the  race,  or  for  the  ideal 
of  man,  in  each  individual.  In  other  and  less  pedantic  words, 
he  who  is  truly  humane  considers  every  human  being  as  such 
interesting  and  important,  and  without  waiting  to  criticize  each 
individual  specimen,  pays  in  advance  to  all  alike  the  tribute  of 

good  wishes  and  sympathy If  some  human  beings  are 

abject  and  contemptible,  if  it  be  incredible  to  us  that  they  can 
have  any  high  dignity  or  destiny,  do  we  regard  them  from  so  great 
a  height  as  Christ  ?  Are  we  likely  to  be  more  pained  by  their 
faults  and  deficiencies  than  he  was  ?  Is  our  standard  higher  than 


268  SEELEY  AND  OTHERS 

his  ?  And  yet  he  associated  by  preference  with  these  meanest 
of  the  race  ;  no  contempt  for  them  did  he  ever  express,  no  sus- 
picion that  they  might  be  less  dear  than  the  best  and  wisest  to 
the  common  Father,  no  doubt  that  they  were  naturally  capable 
of  rising  to  a  moral  elevation  like  his  own.  There  is  nothing 
of  which  a  man  may  be  prouder  than  of  this  ;  it  is  the  most  hope- 
ful and  redeeming  fact  in  history  ;  it  is  precisely  what  was  wanting 
to  raise  the  love  of  man  as  man  to  enthusiasm.  An  eternal  glory 
has  been  shed  upon  the  human  race  by  the  love  Christ  bore  to  it. 

SIR  J.  R.  SEELEY 

(Ecce  Homo). 


ON  parent  knees,  a  naked,  new-born  child, 
Weeping  thou  sat'st  while  all  around  thee  smiled  : 
So  live,  that  sinking  to  thy  life's  last  sleep 
Calm  thou  mayst  smile,  while  all  around  thee  weep. 

vSm  WIUJAM  JOXES   (1746-1704) 
(From  the  Persian). 


CAN  the  earth  where  the  harrow  is  driven 

The  sheaf  of  the  furrow  foresee  ? 
Or  thou  guess  the  harvest  for  heaven 

When  iron  has  entered  in  thee  ? 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACED. 

This  was  quoted  by  Lord  Lytton  in  an  essay  on  The  Influence  of  Love 
upon  Literature  and  Real  Life. 


THESE  pearls  of  thought  in  Persian  gulfs  were  bred, 

Each  softly  lucent  as  a  rounded  moon  ; 
The  diver,  Omar,  plucked  them  from  their  bed, 
Fitzgerald  strung  them  on  an  English  thread. 

J.  R.  LOWELL 

(On  Omar  Khayyam). 


EI4OT  AND  OTHERS  269 

IT  is  hard  for  us  to  live  up  to  our  own  eloquence,  and  keep 
pace  with  our  winged  words,  while  we  are  treading  the  solid 
earth  and  are  liable  to  heavy  dining. 

GEORGE  EUOT 
(Daniel   Deronda) . 


SO,  then,  as  darkness  had  no  beginning,  neither  will  it  ever 
have  an  end.  So,  then,  is  it  eternal.  The  negation  of  aught 
else,  is  its  affirmation.  Where  the  light  cannot  come,  there 
abideth  the  darkness.  The  light  doth  but  hollow  a  mine  out  of 
the  infinite  extension  of  the  darkness.  And  ever  upon  the  steps 
of  the  light  treadeth  the  darkness  ;  yea,  springeth  in  fountains 
and  wells  amidst  it,  from  the  secret  channels  of  its  mighty  sea. 
Truly,  man  is  but  a  passing  flame,  moving  unquietly  amid 
the  surrounding  rest  of  night ;  without  which  he  yet  could  not 
be,  and  whereof  he  is  in  part  compounded. 

G.  MACDONAI.D 

(Phantasies). 

In  the  story  an  ogre  is  reading  this  passage  from  a  book.     Phantasies 
is  MacDonald's  finest  work. 


THERE),  on  the  fields  around, 
All  men  shall  till  the  ground, 

Corn   shall   wave   yellow,    and   bright   rivers   stream  ; 
Daily,  at  set  of  sun, 
All,  when  their  work  is  done, 

Shall  watch  the  heavens  yearn  down  and  the  strange 
starlight    gleam. 

R.    BUCHANAN. 
(The  City  of  Man). 

This  is  the  poet's  vision  of  the  city  of  the  future,  and  will  be  interesting 
to  the  allotment-holders  in  English  cities  to-day. 


DEAR  dead  women,  with  such  hair,  too — what's  become  of  all 

the  gold 

Used  to  hang   and   brush   their   bosoms  ?      I    feel   chilly    and 
grown  old. 

R.  BROWNING 
(A  Toccata  of  Galuppi's), 


270  CORNEIUvE  AND  OTHERS 

QUAND  on  n'a  pas  ce  que  Ton  aime, 
II  faut  aimer  ce  que  Ton  a. 

(When  you  have  not  what  you  love 
You  must  love  what  you  have.) 

THOMAS  CORNEIIJ.E 
(L'Inconnu). 


AT  last  methought  that  I  had  wandered  far 
In  an  old  wood  :  fresh-washed  in  coolest  dew 

The  maiden  splendours  of  the  morning  star 
Shook  in  the  steadfast  blue.  . 


At  length  I  saw  a  lady  within  call, 

Stiller  than  chiselled  marble,  standing  there 

A  daughter  of  the  gods,  divinely  tall, 
And  most  divinely  fair. 


I  turning  saw,  throned  on  a  flowery  rise, 
One  sitting  on  a  crimson  scarf  unrolled  ; 

A  queen,  with  swarthy  cheeks  and  bold  black  eyes, 
Brow-bound  with  burning  gold 


"  I  died  a  Queen.    The  Roman  soldier  found 
Me  lying  dead,  my  crown  about  my  brows, 
A  name  for  ever  ! — lying  robed  and  crowned, 
Worthy  a  Roman  spouse." 

TENNYSON 
(A  Dream  of  Fair  Women) 

Helen  of  Troy  and  Cleopatra — but,  as  Peacock  mentioned  in  Gryll 
Grange^  Cleopatra  was  of  pure  Greek  descent  and  could  not  have  been  a 
"  swarthy  "  lady. 

ONE  pond  of  water  gleams  ; 
....  the  trees  bend 
O'er  it  as  wild  men  watch  a  sleeping  girl. 

R.  BROWNING 

(Pauline). 


KEATS  AND  OTHERS  271 

I  MET  a  lady  in  the  meads, 

Full  beautiful,  a  faery's  child  ; 
Her  hair  was  long,  her  foot  was  light, 

And  her  eyes  were  wild. 

I  set  her  on  my  pacing  steed, 

And  nothing*  else  saw  all  day  long  ; 
For  sideways  would  she  lean,  and  sing 
A  faery's  song. 

KEATS 
(La  Belle  Dame  sans  Merci), 


HE  put  the  hawthorn  twigs  apart, 
And  yet  saw  no  more  wondrous  thing 

Than  seven  white  swans,  who  on  wide  wing 
Went  circling  round,  till  one  by  one 
They  dropped  the  dewy  grass  upon. 

W.  MORRIS 
(The  Earthly  Paradise,  the  Land  East  of  the  Sun). 


QUOTH  Christabel.— So  let  it  be  ! 
And,  as  the  lady  bade,  did  she. 
Her  gentle  limbs  did  she  undress 
And  lay  down  in  her  loveliness. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE 

(Christabel) 
The  six  quotations  above  are  word-pictures  (see  note  p.  85). 


IT  is  a  mistake  into  which  spiritually -minded  men  have  fallen, 
that  God  is  apprehended  and  known  by  a  special  faculty.  The 
fact  is  that  every  faculty  is  serviceable  in  this  noble  work. 
We  reach  the  Divine  through  our  aesthetic  faculties  when  our 
soul  is  stirred  by  a  grand  burst  of  music,  or  by  the  contemplation 
of  a  magnificent  landscape.  We  reach  the  Divine  through  our 
purely  intellectual  faculties,  when,  by  true  reasoning,  founded 
on  sound  observation,  we  master  any  great  law  by  which 
God  governs  the  world.  We  reach  the  Divine  through  our 
emotional  nature  when  pure  grief  or  pure  love,  holy  longing, 
unselfish  hope,  righteous  indignation,  elevate  us  above  the 


2j2  MENZIES 

prosaic  level  of  customary  equanimity,  and  help  us  to  realize 
the  incomparable  beauty  of  holiness. 


JUST  as  the  weeping  Magdalene*  stood  bewailing  the  loss 
of  what  even  to  her  was  only  sacred  clay,  all  unconscious  that 
her  Saviour  had  been  given  back  to  her  without  seeing  corruption, 
in  a  glorified  and  eternal  form,  not  dead,  but  alive  for  evermore, 
whom  she  could  love  with  ever  increasing  ardour  of  devotion  : 
so,  we  say,  there  are  not  a  few  in  our  time  whose  lot  it  is  to  wring 
their  hands  over  the  grave  of  lost  ideas,  which  they  loved  and  their 
fathers  loved,  but  for  which  God  himself  is  substituting  ideas 
nobler  and  better  far,  which  earlier  ages  failed  to  grasp  only 
because  they  were  not  in  circumstances  to  feel  their  higher  worth. 


ONE  cannot  demonstrate  on  any  physical  or  visible  basis 
whatever,  that  it  is  a  nobler  thing  to  suffer  injustice  than 
to  commit  it,  that  truth-speaking  is  honourable,  forgiveness  of 
injuries  magnanimous,  and  loving  self-sacrifice  for  others  sublime. 
Honour,  purity,  humility,  reverence,  tenderness,  courtesy, 
patience,  these  things  cannot  be  weighed  on  physical  scales, 
cannot  be  handled  or  touched,  or  melted  or  frozen  in  any  mechani- 
cal or  chemical  laboratory.  They  belong  to  a  different  order 
of  realities  from  acids  and  vapours  :  they  are  denizens  of  what, 
for  want  of  any  more  definite  or  accurate  expression,  we  are 
accustomed  to  call  the  spiritual  world. 


ONE  can  see  how  religion  should,  to  a  young  person,  be 
associated  with  repressive  and  prohibitive  laws.  Youth  is  the 
time  for  the  luxuriating  of  newborn,  and,  therefore,  delicious  vital 
forces.  But  its  very  luxuriance  is  disorderly,  and  religion  cannot  co- 
exist with  disorder.  Therefore,  that  which  is  so  continually  warning 
the  young  against  impulse,  and  passion,  and  irregularity,  ought 
not  to  be  too  greatly  displeased  if  it  should,  by  and  by,  come 
to  be  regarded  by  the  young  as  a  synonym  for  mere  repressive 

*  "  They  say  unto  her,  Woman,  why  weepest  thou  ?  She  saith  unto  them,  Because 
they  have  taken  away  my  Lord,  and  I  know  not  where  they  have  laid  Him  "  (John  xx. 
13).  The  sermon  is  on  the  subject  of  the  growth  of  religious  ideas. 


MENZIES  273 

force,  and,  therefore,  as  an  unpleasant  and  unpopular  thing. 
I  believe,  too,  that  there  is  no  exception  to  the  uniformity  of  the 
experience,  that  all  young  countries  adopt  freer  systems  of 
religion,  and  divest  religious  bodies  more  completely  of  all  political 
and  properly  coercive  power  than  older  countries.  It  is  all  an 
illustration  of  the  same  thing.  Young  life,  which  most  needs 
regulation,  most  dislikes  it.* 


AS  the  genius  of  the  bard  is  in  the  poem,  as  the  wisdom  of  the 
legislator  is  in  the  law,  as  the  skill  of  the  mechanician  is  in  the 
engine,  as  the  soul  of  the  musician  is  in  the  harmony  and  melody, 
as  the  words  of  a  man's  lips  issue  from  the  inner  world  of  his 
mental  and  spiritual  character — so  every  work  of  God,  and  con- 
spicuously man,  as  the  noblest  of  God's  works,  may  truly  be  said 
to  shadow  forth  a  portion  of  the  mind  of  God. 


WE  talk  of  creation  as  a  past  thing.  But  the  truth  is,  creation 
is  eternal.  Creation  never  ceases.  Every  time  the  clouds 
drop  in  rain,  every  time  the  waters  freeze  into  new  ice,  every 
time  the  juices  of  nature  gather  into  another  violet,  every  time 
a  new  wail  of  life  is  heard  upon  a  mother's  breast,  every  time  you 
breathe  another  sigh,  or  shed  another  tear,  there  is  God  as  truly 
present  in  His  miraculous  creative  capacity  as  on  the  day  when 
He  said,  "  Let  there  be  light,"  and  there  was  light. 

P.  S.  MENZIES 
(Sermons). 

Apart  from  their  intrinsic  value,  the  above  extracts  are  given  because 
this  book  of  sermons  is  of  special  interest  to  Australians  and  because  it 
has  passed  into  oblivion.  There  are  very  few  copies  in  existence. 

Menzies  came  from  Glasgow  to  Scots  Church,  Melbourne,  in  1868  and 
died  at  the  early  age  of  thirty-four  in  1874.  At  the  Glasgow  University 
he  had  been  largely  influenced  mentally  and  spiritually  by  Principal  Caird. 

The  sermons  published  in  this  book  were  selected  by  his  widow  after 
his  death.  Although  not  revised  by  their  gifted  young  author,  the  fine 
thoughts  expressed  in  chaste  and  beautiful  language  remind  one  of  James 
Martineau. 

*  This  standing  by  itself  may  give  a  somewhat  wrong  impression  of  Menzies'  thought. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  text  of  the  sermon  is  :  "I  am  come  that  they  might  have  life, 
and  that  they  might  have  it  more  abundantly  "  (John  x.  10). 


274  ELIOT  AND  OTHERS 

OUR  sweet  illusions  are  half  of  them  conscious  illusions — like 
effects  of  colour  that  we  know  to  be  made  up  of  tinsel,  broken 
glass,  and  rags. 

GEORGE  Euox 

(The  Lifted  Veil}. 


MY  Galligaskins  that  have  long  withstood 
The  Winter's  Fury,  and  incroaching  Frosts, 
By  Time  subdued,  (what  will  not  Time  subdue  !) 
An  horrid  Chasm  disclose,  with  Orifice 
Wide,  discontinuous. 

JOHN  PHHjyirs  (1676-1709) 
(The  Splendid  Shilling). 

Galligaskins,  trunk-hose.     "  The  Splendid  Shilling  "  is  a  famous  parody 
on  Milton. 


WE  would  not  pray  that  sorrow  ne'er  may  shed 
Her  dews  along  the  pathway  they  must  tread  ; 
The  sweetest  flowers  would  never  bloom  at  all, 
If  no  least  rain  of  tears  did  ever  fall. 

GERALD  MASSEY 
(Via  Crucis,  Via  Lttcis). 

BUT  his  wings  will  not  rest  and  his  feet  will  not  stay  for  us  ; 

Morning  is  here  in  the  joy  of  its  might ; 

With  his  breath  has  he  sweetened  a  night  and  a  day  for  us  ; 
Now  let  him  pass  and  the  myrtles  make  way  for  us  ; 

Love  can  but  last  in  us  here  at  his  height 
For  a  day  and  a  night. 

SWINBURNE 
(At    Parting}. 

THAT  element  of  tragedy  which  lies  in  the  very  fact  of  frequency, 
has  not  yet  wrought  itself  into  the  coarse  emotion  of  mankind  ; 
and  perhaps  our  frames  could  hardly  bear  much  of  it.  If  we  had 
a  keen  vision  and  feeling  of  all  ordinary  human  life,  it  would  be 
like  hearing  the  grass  grow  and  the  squirrel's  heart  beat,  and  we 
should  die  of  that  roar  which  lies  on  the  other  side  of  silence. 
As  it  is,  the  quickest  of  us  walk  about  well  wadded  with  stupidity. 

GEORGE  ELIOT 

(Middlemarch) . 


MORRIS— BROWNING  275 

In  the  story  Dorothea  has  found  her  husband  to  be  a  man  of  narrow 
mind  and  unsympathetic  nature.  Such  a  disillusionment  after  marriage 
frequently  happens,  and  we  are  not  deeply  moved  by  what  is  not  unusual, 
although  it  may  mean  a  real  life-tragedy.  Ruskin  says  "  God  gives  the 
disposition  to  every  healthy  human  mind  in  some  degree  to  pass  over  or 
even  harden  itself  against  evil  things,  else  the  suffering  would  be  too  great 
to  be  borne  "  (Modern  Painters  v.,  xix.,  32).  Only  thus  could  we  have  lived 
through  the  horrors  of  the  present  war. 

George  Eliot's  analogy  between  intensity  of  the  emotions  and  acuteness 
of  the  senses  reminds  one  of  Pope's  lines  ("  Essay  on  Man,"  Ep.  I.)  where 
he  says  life  would  be  insupportable,  if  we  had  the  acute  hearing,  smell  and 
other  senses  of  insects  and  other  animals ;  we  should 
Die  of  a  rose  in  aromatic  pain. 


MAN  that  passes  by 
So  like  to  God,  so  like  the  beasts  that  die. 

W  MORRIS 
(The  Earthly  Paradise). 


THERE  shall  never  be  one  lost  good  !     What  was,  shall  live  as 
before  ; 

The  evil  is  null,  is  nought,  is  silence  implying  sound  ; 
What  was  good  shall  be  good,  with,  for  evil,  so  much  good  more  ; 

On  the  earth  the  broken  arcs  ;  in  the  heaven  a  perfect  round. 

All  we  have  willed  or  hoped  or  dreamed  of  good  shall  exist  ; 

Not  in  semblance,  but  itself  ;  no  beauty,  nor  good,  nor  power, 
Whose  voice  has  gone  forth,  but  each  survives  for  the  melodist 

When  eternity  affirms  the  conception  of  an  hour. 
The  high  that  proved  too  high,  the  heroic  for  earth  too  hard, 

The  passion  that  left  the  ground  to  lose  itself  in  the  sky, 
Are  music  sent  up  to  God  by  the  lover  and  the  bard  ; 

Enough  that  He  heard  it  once  :  we  shall  hear  it  by  and  bye. 

R.  BROWNING 
(Abt  Vogler}. 

Abt — or  Abbe — Georg  Joseph  Vogler,  1749-1814,  a  German  organist 
and  composer,  is  probably  chosen  by  Browning  because,  although  an 
important  musician,  his  compositions  have  perished.  In  this  fine  poem 
Vogler  has  been  extemporizing,  and  his  inspired  music  has  lifted  him  in 
ecstasy  to  heaven.  The  sounds  are  his  slaves  who  have  built  palaces  of 
music,  as  in  the  Arab  legends  angels  and  demons  built  magic  structures  for 


276  BROWNING 

Solomon.  He  grieves  that  this  wonderful  music  should  apparently  have 
vanished  for  ever ;  but  is  comforted  by  the  thought  that  no  good  thing, 
no  fine  aspiration,  no  great  effort  or  noble  impulse  can  really  die,  but 
must  exist  for  ever  in  the  mind  of  God. 

If  Browning  had  known  the  evidence  now  afforded  scientifically  by 
hypnotism  and  otherwise,  he  might  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  all 
our  thoughts  and  feelings,  both  good  and  bad,  are  recorded  deep  down  in 
our  own  consciousness.  Moreover,  the  existence  of  thought-transference 
leads  to  the  somewhat  dreadful  suggestion  that  this  record  of  all  our  inmost 
thoughts  and  feelings  may  possibly  become  open  to  the  inspection  of 
every  one. 

The  quotation  reminds  one  of  Wordsworth's  sonnet  on  the  "  Inside 
of  King's  College  Chapel,  Cambridge." 

Where  music  dwells 

Lingering — and  wandering  on  as  loth  to  die ; 
Like  thoughts  whose  very  sweetness  yieldeth  proof 
That  they  were  born  for  immortality. 


.  .  .  HAD  I  painted  the  whole, 

Why,  there  it  had  stood,  to  see,  nor  the  process  so  wonder- 
worth  : 
Had  I  written  the  same,  made  verse — still,  effect  proceeds  from 

cause, 

Ye  know  why  the  forms  are  fair,  ye  hear  how  the  tale  is  told  ; 
It  is  all  triumphant  art,  but  art  in  obedience  to  laws, 

Painter  and  poet  are  proud  in  the  artist-list  enrolled  : — 


But  here  is  the  finger  of  God,  a  flash  of  the  will  that  can, 

Bxistent  behind  all  laws,  that  made  them  and,  lo,  they  are  ! 
And  I  know  not  if,  save  in  this,  such  gift  be  allowed  to  man, 
That  out  of  three  sounds  he  frame,  not  a  fourth  sound,  but 

a  star. 
Consider  it  well  :  each  tone  of  our  scale  in  itself  is  nought ; 

It  is  everywhere  in  the  world — loud,  soft,  and  all  is  said  : 
Give  it  to  me  to  use  !     I  mix  it  with  two  in  my  thought : 

And,  there  !     Ye  have  heard  and  seen  :  consider  and  bow  the 
head  ! 

ROBERT  BROWNING 
(Abt    Vogler}. 

See  the  ^receding  note.  The  poet  says  that  Painting  and  Poetry  are 
"  art  in  obedience  to  laws,"  but  the  musician  exerts  a  higher  creative  will 
akin  to  that  of  God.  The  painter  has  before  him  the  pictures  he  repro- 


SAD1  277 

duces,  the  poet  borrows  his  imagery  from  visible  things  and  has  apt  words 
in  which  to  express  his  thoughts  :  the  musician  has  nothing  visible,  nothing 
outside  his  own  soul,  to  assist  him,  and  can  use  only  the  meaningless  sounds 
which  we  hear  everywhere  around  us.  By  combining,  however,  three  of 
those  empty  sounds  (in  a  chord)  he  evolves  a  fourth  sound,  which  so  tran- 
scends all  that  other  arts  can  do  in  expressing  emotion  that  Browning 
compares  it  to  a  "  star." 

But  this  expresses  only  part  of  the  poet's  meaning.  In  using  this 
tremendous  comparison  to  a  star,  as  also  in  enthroning  music  supreme 
above  art  and  poetry,  he  means  that  it  transcends  their  loftiest  flights  and 
rises  above  our  world  to  the  heavens  above.  In  the  earlier  part  of  the  poem 
the  "  pinnacled  glory  "  built  by  the  slaves  of  sound  at  the  bidding  of  the 
musician's  soul  is  based  "  broad  on  the  roots  of  things  "  and  ascends  until 
it  "  attains  to  heaven." 

F.  W.  H.  Myers,  in  "  The  Renewal  of  Youth,"  has  a  passage  on  music. 
His  theme  is  that  while  music  (as  in  Mozart's  operas)  may  express  human 
passion,  it  also  (as  in  Beethoven)  rises  to  greater  heights  and  appears  to 
voice  the  emotions  of  a  world  beyond  our  senses.  In  the  lines  I  have 
italicized  in  the  following  passage  he  no  doubt  refers  to  Browning's  line, 
"  That  out  of  three  sounds  he  frame,  not  a  fourth  sound,  but  a  star  !" — the 
"  star  "  meaning  that  music  ascends  to  a  higher  world  than  our  own  : — 


.  .  .  Music  is  a  creature  bound, 
A  voice  not  ours,  the  imprisoned  soul  of  sound, — 
Who  fain  would  bend  down  hither  and  find  her  part 
In  the  strong  passion  of  a  hero's  heart, 
Or  one  great  hour  constrains  herself  to  sing 
Pastoral  peace  and  waters  wandering ; — 
'Then  bark  boto  on  a  chord  sbe  is  rapt  and  flown 
To  that  true  world  tbou  seest  not  nor  bast  known, 
Nor  speech  of  thine  can  her  strange  thought  unfold, 
The  bars'  wild  beat,  and  ripple  of  running  gold. 

Not  only  does  Browning  unselfishly  assert  that  the  sister- 
art  is  superior  to  his  own,  but  he  goes  further,  and  doubts  if  music  is  not  the 
greatest  of  all  man's  gifts.  I  do  not  discuss  either  contention — leaving 
musicians  to  rejoice  in  the  tribute  of  a  great  poet. 


ALTHOUGH  a  gem  be  cast  away. 
And  lie  obscured  in  heaps  of  clay, 

Its  precious  worth  is  still  the  same  ; 
Although  vile  dust  be  whirled  to  heaven. 
To  it  no  dignity  is  given, 

Still  base  as  when  from  earth  it  came. 

SADI 

(L.  5.  Costello's  translation). 


278  TENNYSON  AND  OTHERS 

DEATH  closes  all :  but  something  ere  the  end, 
Some  work  of  noble  note,  may  yet  be  done  .  .  . 
Tho'  much  is  taken,  much  abides  ;  and  tlio' 
We  are  not  now  that  strength  which  in  old  days 
Moved  earth  and  heaven  ;  that  which  we  are,  we  are  ; 
One  equal  temper  of  heroic  hearts, 
Made  weak  by  time  and  fate,  but  strong  in  will 
To  strive,  to  seek,  to  find,  and  not  to  yield. 

TENNYSON 

(Ulysses). 


JENNY  kissed  me  when  we  met, 

Jumping  from  the  chair  she  sat  in  ; 
Time,  you  thief,  who  love  to  get 

Sweets  into  your  list,  put  that  in  ! 
Say  I'm  weary,  say  I'm  sad. 

Say  that  health  and  wealth  have  missed  me, 
Say  I'm  growing  old,  but  add 

Jenny  kissed  me. 

I/EIGH  HUNT. 

Jenny"  was  Mrs.  Carlyle. 


A  GRACIOUS  spirit  o'er  this  earth  presides 

And  o'er  the  heart  of  man  :  invisibly 

It  comes,  to  works  of  unreproved  delight 

And  tendency  benign,  directing  those 

Who  care  not,  know  not,  think  not  what  they  do. 

The  tales  that  charm  away  the  wakeful  night 

In  Araby  ;  romances  ;  legends  penned 

For  solace  by  dim  light  of  monkish  lamps  ; 

Fictions,  for  ladies  of  their  love,  devised 

By  youthful  squires  ;  adventures  endless,  spun 

By  the  dismantled  warrior  in  old  age, 

Out  of  the  bowels  of  those  very  schemes 

In  which  his  youth  did  first  extravagate  ; 

These  spread  like  day,  and  something  in  the  shape 

Of  these  will  live  till  man  shall  be  no  more. 

Dumb  yearnings,  hidden  appetites,  are  ours, 

And  they  must  have  their  food.     Our  childhood  sits, 

Our  simple  childhood,  sits  upon  a  throne 

That  hath  more  power  than  all  the  elements. 

WORDSWORTH 

(The  Prelude,  IJk.  V.) 


ELIOT  AND  OTHERS  279 

THE  world  is  so  inconveniently  constituted,  that  the  vague 
consciousness  of  being  a  fine  fellow  is  no  guarantee  of  success 
in  any  line  of  business. 

GEORGE;  EUOT 
(Brother  Jacob.) 


WASTED,  weary, — wherefore  stay 
Wrestling  thus  with  earth  and  clay  ! 
From  the  body  pass  away  ! — 
Hark  !  the  mass  is  singing. 


From  thee  doff  thy  mortal  weed, 
Mary  Mother  be  thy  speed, 
Saints  to  help  thee  at  thy  need  ! 
Hark  !  the  knell  is  ringing. 


Fear  not  snow-drift  driving  past, 
Sleet,  or  hail,  or  levin  blast ; 
Soon  the  shroud  shall  lap  thee  fast, 
And  the  sleep  be  on  thee  cast 
That  shall  know  no  waking. 


Haste  thee,  haste  thee  to  be  gone, 
Earth  flits  past,  and  time  draws  on, — 
Gasp  thy  gasp,  and  groan  thy  groan, 
Day  is  near  the  breaking. 

SIR  WAI/TER  SCOTT. 

From  Guy  Mannering.  Scott  says  it  is  a  prayer  or  spell,  which  was 
used  in  Scotland  or  Northern  England  to  speed  the  passage  of  a  parting 
spirit,  like  the  tolling  of  a  bell  in  Catholic  days. 


THE  world  is  full  of  Woodmen  who  expel 
Love's  gentle  Dryads  from  the  haunts  of  life, 
And  vex  the  nightingales  in  even7  dell. 

SHEI,I<EY 
(The  Woodman  and  the  Nightingale). 


280  MARTINEAU  AND  OTHERS 


of  every  kind,  being  familiar  to  us  as  an  object  of  appre- 
hension, appears  to  be  external  to  ourselves.  And  yet  it  is  invested 
with  the  greater  part  of  its  severity  by  the  mind  :  it  acts  upon  us 
by  the  ideas  it  awakens,  the  affections  it  wounds,  the  aspirations 
it  disappoints.  If  its  outward  pressure  were  all,  and  it  dealt 
with  us  as  beings  of  sense  alone,  it  would  lose  most  of  its 
poignancy  and  would  dwindle  down  into  a  few  animal  pangs.  .  .  . 
It  is  our  higher  nature  that  creates  immeasurably  the  greater 
part  of  the  ills  we  endure  :  they  are  ideal,  not  sensible  :  and  it 
is  the  privilege  of  reason  to  have  tears  instead  of  groans  ;  of  love 
to  know  grief  instead  of  pain  ;  of  conscience  to  replace  un- 
easiness with  remorse.  .  .  .  Penury,  disgrace,  bereavement, 
guilt,  are  evils  which  we  must  be  human  in  order  to  feel  ;  and  it 
is  the  penalty  of  our  nobleness,  not  only  to  be  weighed  down  by 
their  occasional  burthen,  but  to  be  perpetually  haunted  by  the 
phantom  of  their  approach. 

JAMES  MARTINEAU 
(Hours  of  Thought,  II,   150). 


TWO  or  three  of  them  got  round  me,  and  begged  me  for  the 
twentieth  time  to  tell  them  the  name  of  my  country.  Then, 
as  they  could  not  pronounce  it  satisfactorily,  they  insisted  that 
I  was  deceiving  them,  and  that  it  was  a  name  of  my  own  invention. 
One  funny  old  man,  who  bore  a  ludicroiis  resemblance  to  a  friend 
qf  mine  at  home,  was  almost  indignant.  "  Unglung  !  "  said 
he,  "who  ever  heard  of  such  a  name  ?  —  anglang,  angerlang  — 
that  can't  be  the  name  of  your  country;  you  are  playing  with  us." 
Then  he  tried  to  give  a  convincing  illustration.  "  My  country 
is  Wanumbai  —  anybody  can  say  Wanumbai.  I'm  an  orang- 
Wanumbai  ;  but  N-glung  !  who  ever  heard  of  such  a  name  ? 
Do  tell  us  the  real  name  of  your  country,  and  when  you  are  gone 
we  shall  know  how  to  talk  about  you."  To  this  luminous  argument 
and  remonstrance  I  could  oppose  nothing  but  assertion,  and  the 
whole  party  remained  firmly  convinced  that  I  was  for  some 
reason  or  other  deceiving  them. 

A.  R. 


(The  Malay  Archipelago}. 


SHIPS  that  pass  in  the  night,  and  speak  each  other  in  passing, 

Only  a  signal  shown  and  a  distant  voice  in  the  darkness  ; 

So  on  the  ocean  of  life  we  pass  and  speak  one  another, 

Only  a  look  and  a  voice,  then  darkness  again  and  a  silence. 

I/DNGFEIJ.OW 
(Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn}. 


CIvOUGH  281 

This  was  written  in  1863,  but  ten  years  earlier  Alexander  Smith,  in 
A  Life  Drama,"  had  written  : 

We  twain  have  met  like  the  ships  upon  the  sea, 
Who  hold  an  hour's  converse,  so  short,  so  sweet ; 
One  little  hour  1  and  then  away  they  speed 
On  lonely  paths,  through  mist,  and  cloud,  and  foam, 
To   meet   no   more. 

Other  writers  have  also  used  the  same  simile.     See  next  poem. 


QUA  CURSUM  VENTUS 

AS  ships,  becalmed  at  eve,  that  lay 
With  canvas  drooping,  side  by  side, 

Two  towers  of  sail  at  dawn  of  day 
Are  scarce  long  leagues  apart  descried  ; 

When  fell  the  night,  upsprung  the  breeze, 
And  all  the  darkling  hours  they  plied, 

Nor  dreamt  but  each  the  self-same  seas 
By  each  was  cleaving,  side  by  side  : 

E'en  so — but  why  the  tale  reveal 

Of  those,  whom  year  by  year  unchanged. 

Brief  absence  joined  anew  to  feel 

Astounded,  soul  from  soul  estranged  ? 

At  dead  of  night  their  sails  were  filled, 
And  onward  each  rejoicing  steered — 

Ah,  neither  blame,  for  neither  willed, 
Or  wist,  what  first  with  dawn  appeared  ! 

To  veer,  how  vain  !     On,  onward  strain, 
Brave  barks  !     In  light,  in  darkness  too, 

Through  winds  and  tides  one  compass  guides— 
To  that,  and  your  own  selves,  be  true. 

But  O  blithe  breeze  !  and  O  great  seas, 
Though  ne'er,  that  earliest  parting  past, 

On  your  wide  plain  they  join  again, 
Together  lead  them  home  at  last. 

One  port,  methought,  alike  they  sought, 
One  purpose  hold  where'er  they  tare, — 

O  bounding  breeze,  O  rushing  seas  ! 
At  last,  at  last,  unite  them  there  1 

A.  H.  CXouGH. 


282  TENNYSON  AND  OTHERS 

Two  friends,  who  through  absence  have  become  "  soul  from  soul 
estranged,"  are  compared  to  two  ships,  which  unconsciously  draw  apart 
during  the  night  and  must  continue  a  diverging  course ;  but,  being  both 
bound  for  the  same  port,  will  at  the  end  of  their  life-voyage  be  re-united. 

SPEAK  to  Him  thou,  for  He  hears — and  Spirit  with  Spirit  can 

meet — 
Closer  is  He  than  breathing,  and  nearer  than  hands  and  feet. 

TENNYSON 

(The  Higher  Pantheism}. 

Tennyson,  here  and  elsewhere  (see,  for  example,  the  king's  beautiful 
speech  in  "  The  Passing  of  Arthur  ")  urges  us  to  prayer^  and  adds  his  belief 
in  a  personal  intercourse  with  an  ever-present  and  loving  God.  Innumerable 
men  of  the  highest  character  during  nineteen  centuries  have  testified  to 
the  same  direct  communion  with  the  Almighty. 

A  THIRD  in  sugar  with  unscriptural  hand 
Traffics  and  builds  a  lasting  house  on  sand. 

ALFRED  AUSTIN 

(The  Golden  Age). 

THOU  canst  not  in  life's  city 

Rule  thy  course  as  in  a  cell : 
There  are  others,  all  thy  brothers, 

Who  have  work  to  do  as  well. 

Some  events  that  mar  thy  purpose 
May  light  them  upon  their  way  ; 
Our  sun-shining  in  declining 
Gives  earth's  other  side  the  dav. 

R.  A.  VAUGHAN. 
(Hours  with  the  Mystics). 


MY  little  craft  sails  not  alone  ; 
A  thousand  fleets  from  every  zone 
Are  out  upon  a  thousand  seas  ; 
And  what  for  me  were  favouring  breeze 
Might  dash  another,  with  the  shock 
Of  doom,  upon  some  hidden  rock. 
And  so  I  do  not  dare  to  pray 
For  winds  to  waft  me  on  my  way. 

CATHERINE  ATHERTON  MASON. 


STERNE— BLANC  283 

A  MAN'S  body  and  his  mind,  with  the  utmost  reverence  to  both 
I  speak  it,  are  exactly  like  a  jerkin  and  a  jerkin's  lining  :  rumple 
the  one.  you  rumple  the  other. 

STERNE 
(Tristram  Shandy). 


IL  (Boucher)  trouvait  la  nature  trop  verte  et  mal  eclairee.  Et 
son  ami,  Lancret,  le  peintre  des  salons  a  la  mode,  lui  repondait  : 
"  Je  suis  de  votre  sentiment,  la  nature  manque  d'harmonie 
et  de  seduction." 

(He,  Boucher,  found  nature  too  green  and  badly  lit.  And  his  friend, 
Lancret,  the  fashionable  painter  of  the  day,  replied  to  him,  "  I  am  of  your 
opinion,  nature  is  wanting  in  harmony  and  seductiveness.") 

CHARGES  BLANC. 
See  following  quotation. 


IF  you  examine  the  literature  of  the  i;th  and  i8th  centuries, 
you  will  find  that  nearly  all  its  expressions,  having  reference 
to  the  country,  show  .  .  either  a  foolish  sentimentality,  or  a 
morbid  fear,  both  of  course  coupled  with  the  most  curious  ignor- 
ance. Nothing  is  more  remarkable  than  the  general  conception 
of  the  country  merely  as  a  series  of  green  fields,  and  the  combined 
ignorance  and  dread  of  more  sublime  scenery.  The  love  of 
fresh  air  and  green  grass  forced  itself  upon  the  animal  natures 
of  men  ;  but  that  of  the  sublimer  features  of  scenery  had  no 
place  in  minds  whose  chief  powers  had  been  repressed  by  the 
formalisms  of  the  age.  And  although  in  the  second-rate  writers 
continually,  and  in  the  first-rate  ones  occasionally,  you  find 
an  affectation  of  interest  in  mountains,  clouds,  and  forests,  yet 
whenever  they  write  from  their  heart,  you  will  find  an  utter 
absence  of  feeling  respecting  anything  beyond  gardens  and 
grass.  Examine,  for  instance,  the  novels  of  Smollett,  Fielding, 
and  Sterne,  the  comedies  of  Moliere,  and  the  writings  of  Johnson 
and  Addison,  and  I  do  not  think  you  will  find  a  single  expression 
of  true  delight  in  sublime  nature  in  any  one  of  them.  Perhaps 
Sterne's  Sentimental  Jotefncy,  in  its  total  absence  of  sentiment 
on  any  subject  but  humanity,  and  its  entire  want  of  notice  of 
anything  at  Geneva  which  might  not  as  well  have  been  seen  at 


284  RUSKIN  AND  OTHERS 

Coxwold,  is  the  most  striking  instance  I  could  give  you  ;  and  if 
you  compare  with  this  negation  of  feeling  on  one  side,  the  inter- 
ludes of  Moliere,  in  which  shepherds  and  shepherdesses  are  intro- 
duced in  court  dress,  you  will  have  a  very  accurate  conception 
of  the  general  spirit  of  the  age. 

JOHN  RUSKIN 
(Architecture    and    Painting). 


"MY  other  piece  of  advice,  Copperfield,"  said  Mr.  Micawber, 
"  you  know.  Annual  income  twenty  pounds,  annual  expenditure 
nineteen  nineteen  six,  result  happiness.  Annual  income  twenty 
pounds,  annual  expenditure  twenty  pounds  ought  and  six,  result 
misery.  The  blossom  is  blighted,  the  leaf  is  withered,  the  God 
of  day  goes  down  upon  the  dreary  scene,  and — and  in  short, 
you  are  for  ever  floored.  As  I  am  !  " 

CHARGES  DICKENS 
(David  Copperfield). 


AND  yet,  as  Angels  in  some  brighter  dreams 
Call  to  the  soul,  when  man  doth  sleep, 
So  some  strange  thoughts  transcend  our  wonted  themes, 
And  into  glory  peep. 

HENRY  VAUGHAN 
(Friends  Departed). 
This  is  Vision. 

....  The  trial-test 

Appointed  to  all  flesh  at  some  one  stage 
Of  soul's  achievement — when  the  strong  man  doubts 
His  strength,  the  good  man  whether  goodness  be, 
The  artist  in  the  dark  seeks,  fails  to  find 
Vocation,  and  the  saint  forswears  his  shrine. 

R.  BROWNING 
(The    Inn   Album). 


I  SITS  with  my  toes  in  a  brook  ; 

If  anyone  asks  me  for  why, 
I  hits  him  a  rap  with  my  crook — 

'Tis  sentiment  kills  me,  says  I. 

HORACE  WAI,POI,K. 

This  was  written  in  a  game  of  bouts  nines  (rhymed  ends).     Four  !in< 
had  to  be  composed  ending  with  "  brook,"  "  why,"  "  crook,"  "  I." 


BROWNING— HUGO  285 

OH,  the  little  birds  sang  east,  and  the  little  birds  sang  west. 
And  I  said  in  underbreath, — all  our  life  is  mixed  with  death. 
And  who  knoweth  which  is  best  ? 

Oh,  the  little  birds  sang  east,  and  the  little  birds  sang  west, 
And  I  smiled  to  think  God's  greatness  flowed  around  our 
incoi  npleteness — 

Round  our  restlessness,  His  rest. 

E.  B.  BROWNING 
(Rhyme  of  the  Duchess  Mav), 


I  GO  to  prove  my  soul ! 
I  see  my  way  as  birds  their  trackless  way. 
I  shall  arrive  !  what  time,  what  circuit  first, 
I  ask  not :  but  unless  God  send  his  hail 
Or  blinding  fireballs,  sleet  or  stifling  snow, 
In  some  time,  his  good  time,  I  shall  arrive  : 
He  guides  me  and  the  bird.     In  his  good  time  ! 

R.  BROWNING 
(Paracelsus). 


Referring  to  Bryant's  poem,  "  To  a  Waterfowl  "  : — 

He  who  from  zone  to  zone 

Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy  certain  flight, 
In  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone, 
Will  lead  my  steps  aright. 


SpUVENT  femme  varie, 
Bien  fol  est  qui  s'y  fie  ! 

(Woman   is   very   fickle, 

Great  fool  he  who  trusts  in  her !) 


VICTOR  HUGO 

(Le  Rot  s'amtise). 


In  the  play  Francis  I  (1494-1547)  enters  singing  these  lines.  (Francis 
wrote  on  the  walls  of  the  royal  apartments  at  Chambord  Toute  femme 
varif,  "  Every  woman  is  fickle.")  One  finds  this  never-ending  theme 
of  poets  and  cynics  in  Virgil's  Varium  et  mutabile  semper  Femina,  "  Woman 
is  a  fickle  and  changeable  thing  "  (Aenrid  iv,  569),  La  donna  &  mobile  (Rigo- 
letto),  and  countless  other  passages. 


286  SHAKESPEARE— DONNE 

CROWNED  with  flowers  I  saw  fair  Amaryllis 
By  Thyrsis  sit,  hard  by  a  fount  of  Chrystal, 

And  with  her  hand  more  white  than  snow  or  lilies, 
On  sand  she  wrote  "  My  faith  shall  be  immortal  "  : 

And  suddenly  a  storm  of  wind  and  weather 

Blew  all  her  faith  and  sand  away  together. 

ANON. 


FOR,  boy,  however  we  do  praise  ourselves, 
Our  fancies  are  more  giddy  and  infirm, 
More  longing,  wavering,  sooner  lost  and  won, 
Than  women's  are. 

Twelfth  Night,  II,  4. 


IF  Thou  be'st  born  to  strange  sights, 

Things  invisible  to  see, 
Ride  ten  thousand  days  and  nights 

Till  Age  snow  white  hairs  on  thee  ; 
Thou,  when  thou  return'st,  will  tell  me 
All  strange  wonders  that  befell  thee, 
And  swear 
No  where 
Ijves  a  woman  true,  and  fair. 

If  thou  find'st  one,  let  me  know  : 
Such  a  pilgrimage  were  sweet. 
Yet  do  not ;  I  would  not  go, 

Though  at  next  door  we  might  meet. 
Though  she  were  true  when  you  met  her, 
And  last  till  you  write  your  letter, 
Yet  she 
Will  be 
False,  ere  I  come,  to  two  or  three. 

JOHN  DONNE 
(Song). 


IN  his  broken  fashion  Queequeg  gave  me  to  understand  that, 
in  his  land,  owing  to  the  absence  of  settees  and  sofas  of  all  sorts, 
the  king,  chiefs  and  great  people  generally  were  in  the  custom 


MELVILLE  AND  OTHERS  287 

of  fattening  some  of  the  lower  orders  for  ottomans  ;  and  to  furnish 
a  house  comfortably  in  that  respect,  you  had  only  to  buy  up  eight 
or  ten  lazy  fellows,  and  lay  them  round  in  the  piers  and  alcoves. 
Besides  it  was  very  convenient  on  an  excursion — much  better  than 
those  garden-chairs  which  are  convertible  into  walking-sticks. 
Upon  occasion  a  chief  would  call  his  attendant,  and  desire  him 
to  make  a  settee  of  himself  under  a  spreading  tree — perhaps 
in  some  damp  marshy  place. 

HERMAN  MEIA'II,I<E 
(Moby  Dick). 


HERE  lie  I,  Martin  Elginbrodde  : 
Hae  mercy  o'  my  soul,  Lord  God  ; 
As  I  wad  do,  were  I  Lord  God, 
And  ye  were  Martin  Elginbrodde. 

G.    MACDONAI^D 

(David  Elginbrod). 


DIEU  me  pardonnera  ;  c'est  son  metier. 

(God  will  pardon  me  ;  that  is  His  business.) 


HEINE. 


0  LORD,  it  broke  my  heart  to  see  his  pain  ! 

1  thought — I  dared  to  think — if  I  were  God, 
Poor  Caird  should  never  gang  so  dark  a  road  ; 

I  thought — ay,  dared  to  think,  the  Lord  forgie  ! — 
The  Lord  was  crueller  than  I  could  be  ; 
Forgetting  God  is  just  and  knoweth  best 
What  folk  should  burn  in  fire,  what  folk  be  blest. 

R.  BUCHANAN 

(A  Scottish  Eclogue}. 


288  HODGSON 

THE  OTHER  SIDE  OF  THE  SEA. 

THOUGHTS  and  tears  as  I  turn  away, 

Tears  for  a  long  ago  : 
She  looks  out  on  a  summer  day, 

I  on  a  night  of  snow. 
But  I  see  some  ferns  and  a  rushing  rill 

And  my  love  that  promised  me, 
And  a  day  we  spent  on  God's  great  hill 

On  the  other  side  of  the  sea, 
My  heart, 

On  the  other  side  of  the  sea. 

Ay  !  the  hill  was  green  and  the  sky  was  blue, 

And  the  path  was  dappled  fair, 
But  a  light  from  loving  eyes  shone  through 

Beyond  the  sunlight  there. 
And  I  gave  my  life — and  who's  to  blame  ? — 

As  over  the  hill  went  we  : 
But  the  sky  and  the  hill  and  the  way  we  came 

Are  the  other  side  of  the  sea, 
Sad  heart, 

Are  the  other  side  of  the  sea.  .  . 

'Mid  trees  and  grass  and  a  tangled  wall 

We  wandered  merrily  down, 
Through  the  homeless  boughs  and  the  forest  fall 

Of  the  dead  leaves  thick  and  brown. 
But  faith  is  broken  and  life  is  pain 

And  oh  !  it  can  never  be 
That  I  gather  those  golden  hours  again 

On  the  other  side  of  the  sea, 
Poor  heart, 

On  the  other  side  of  the  sea. 

Though  the  sea  is  wild  and  the  sea  is  dark, 

It  will  sink  and  slip  away 
At  the  bounding  scorn  of  my  speeding  bark 

To  the  land  of  that  dear  day  ; 
But  never  the  Love  of  my  soul  be  seen, 

The  light  of  that  day  to  me, 
For  I  know  there  is  lying  our  hearts  between 

A  wilder  and  darker  sea, 
O  God! 

The  depth  of  a  bitterer  sea. 

RICHARD  HODGSON. 

This  was  written  in  March,  1879,  after  Hodgson  had  left  Australia 
for  England.     The  love-episode  is  imaginary. 


LOCKER-IvAMPSON— SHEIylyEY  289 

THEY  eat,  and  drink,  and  scheme,  and  plod, 

And  go  to  church  on  Sunday  ; 
And  many  are  afraid  of  God — 
And  more  of  Mrs.  Grundy. 

F.  LOCKER-LAMPSON 
(The  Jester's  Plea}. 


GREECE  and  her  foundations  are 
Built  below  the  tide  of  war, 
Based  on  the  crystalline  sea 
Of  thought  and  its  eternity. 

SHEU,EY 

(Hellas). 


It  is  very  true  that  the  amazing  intellectual  power  of  the  Greeks 
in  a  primitive  age  ensures  them  an  immortality  of  fame ;  and  this  is  finely 
expressed  in  the  last  two  lines.  But  those  two  splendid  lines  are  utterly 
spoilt  by  the  two  that  precede  them.  One  asks,  Why  "  Greece  and  her  foun- 
dations "  ?  One  does  not  say  "  a  house  and  its  foundations  "  are  built 
somewhere  or  other.  This  by  itself  would  be  trivial,  but  next  comes  the 
Question,  What  is  the  meaning  of  the  second  line  ?  We  know  what  Shelley 
intended — that  the  memory  and  influence  of  Greece  will  withstand  its 
destruction  by  war — but  why  in  that  case  should  she  not  be  built  above, 
intead  of  submerged  below  the  tide  of  war  ?  Later  on,  in  lines  836-7, 
the  Emperor  Palaeologus,  at  the  siege  of  Constantinople,  is  said  to  have  cast 
himself  "  beneath  the  stream  of  war  "  ;  that  is  to  say,  he  was  overwhelmed 
and  killed.  The  words,  in  fact,  do  not  express  the  poet's  meaning.  The 
third  and  fatal  defect  of  the  lines  is  the  juxtaposition  of  "  tide  "  and  "  sea  " 
— the  city  is  built  below  a  tide,  and  also  based  on  a  sea.  Not  only  is  this 
combination  absurd  in  itself,  but  it  also  destroys  the  beauty  of  the  last 
two  magnificent  lines.  The  moving  unstable  water  is  scarcely  a  foundation 
to  build  upon,  yet  this  meaning  is  forcibly  impressed  upon  the  word  "  sea  " 
by  the  previous  mention  of  a  "  tide."  What  Shelley  meant  was  an  immense 
broad,  deep,  expanse  of  solid  crystal — the  "  sea  of  gjass  like  unto  crystal " 
of  Revelations  (iv,  6)  and  the  Mer  de  Glace  ("  sea  of  ice  "  ),  the  great  Alpine 
glacier.*  Therefore,  anyone  who  had  exactness  of  thought  or  perception 
of  poetry  would  omit  the  first  two  lines  and  give  only  the  last  two  as  a 
quotation. 


and  we  thus  have  an  illustration  of  the  curious  fact  that  a  great  poet  is 

*  So  we  speak  of  a  "  tea  of  heads  "  "  sea  of  faces,"  "sea  of  sand,"  "  §ea  of  clouds," 
' '  sea  of  vegetation,"  etc. 

10 


290  SHELLEY 

often  a  poor  judge  of  his  own  poetry.  (Almost  certainly  Shakespeare 
himself  did  not  realize  how  god-like  he  stood  above  all  other  poets.)  How- 
ever, it  is  not  only  for  this  reason  that  I  have  included  the  above  quotation, 
but  because  with  it  I  propose  to  make  a  flank  attack  upon  Mr.  R.  W.  Living- 
stone, the  author  of  The  Greek  Genius  and  its  Meaning  to  us.  I  do  this, 
of  course,  with  a  special  object  in  view. 

Mr.  Livingstone's  book  is  important,  valuable,  and  highly  interesting 
— and  is  especially  admirable  because  the  author  does  not  envelope  his 
subject  in  the  usual  glamour,  born  of  enthusiasm.  He  is,  indeed,  most 
exceptional  in  this  respect,  that  he  endeavours  to  look  at  the  Greeks  from 
an  ordinary  commonsense  point  of  view.  But  he  makes  the  mistake, 
not  unusual  with  classical  men,  of  supposing  that  he  is  a  qualified  critic 
of  poetry  ;  and  he,  therefore,  gives  us  a  special  dissertation  upon  the  compara- 
tive values  of  English  and  Greek  poetry. 

Apart  from  this  dissertation,  he  quotes  three  or  four  passages  from 
English  poets  in  the  course  of  the  book.  Of  these  the  most  prominent 
is  the  above  verse  of  Shelley's,  and  he  quotes  all  four  lines  without  comment. 
Thus  we  see  an  able  man,  in  whom  classical  study  should  have  induced 
exactness  of  thought,  failing  to  analyse  and  understand  what  he  is  quoting. 
But,  more  than  this,  the  question  is  one  of  poetic  perception.  The  imagery 
in  the  last  two  lines  is  sublime — in  the  four  lines  it  is  ludicrous.  Therefore, 
we  begin  with  the  fact  that  our  literary  critic  was  unable  to  see  palpable 
and  grave  defects  in  one  of  the  few  verses  he  himself  quotes.  (I  might  give 
other  illustrations,  as  where  he  admires  poor  verse  of  Dryden's,  but  I  must 
be  brief.) 

Mr.  Livingstone's  point  is  that  the  direct "  and  "  truthful  "  character 
of  Greek  poetry  is  superior  to  the  "  imaginative  "  quality  of  English 
verse.  He  goes  so  far  as  to  say  that  "  Sappho  and  Simonides  with  four 
words  make  him  see  a  nightingale  and  give  him  a  greater  and  far  saner 
pleasure"  than  Shelley's  poem  "To  a  Skylark."  I  take  his  quotation 
from  Simonides,  as  it  involves  less  discussion  than  that  from  Sappho.* 
It  is  (Fr,  73)  a^Soves  iro\vK(&rt\ot  xA»Pa^X«'«*  fiaptval,  "  The  warbling 
nightingales  with  olive  necks,  the  birds  of  spring." 

As  Mr.  Livingstone  is  not  discussing  beauty  of  expression  we  can  leave 
this  out  of  consideration.!  He  is  discussing  the  substance  of  poetry,  com- 
paring the  "  directness  "  and  "  truthfulness  "  of  Simonides  (in  this  case) 
with  the  imaginative  element  in  Shelley's  poem.  He  would  apparently 
discard  the  latter  element  altogether,  and  prefers  a  simple  description 
of  the  nightingale — that  it  sings,  has  an  olive  neck,  and  appears  in  spring. 
The  first  suggestion  that  occurs  to  one  is  that  if,  say,  an  auctioneer's  catalogue 
of  farm  stock — without  any  addition  whatever  to  its  contents — could  be 
worded  prettily  and  made  metrical,  it  would  afford  huge  enjoyment  to  our 
literary  critic. 

*  See  sub-note  at  the  end  of  this  note. 

t  We  can,  however,  agree  that  the  language  of  all  three  poets,  Shelley,  Sappho,  and 
Simonides,  is  exquisitely  beautiful.  Professor  Naylor  points  out  that  it  is  a  characteristic 
of  the  early  Greek  poets  to  compress  a  description  into  a  series  of  epithets  full  of  expression, 
without  connecting  words — compare  Tennyson  ("  The  Passing  of  Arthur  "). 

But  it  lies 

Deep-meadowed,  happy,  fair  with  orchard-lawns 
And  bowery  hollows  crown'd  with  summer  sea. 


SHEIJvEY  291 

The  whole  question  is  as  to  the  value  of  the  imaginative  element  which 
to  our  minds  makes  Shelley's  poem  one  of  the  most  beautiful  lyrics— possibly 
the  most  beautiful — in  all  literature.  In  sweeping  away  this  element, 
Mr.  Livingstone  tells  us  how  much  of  English  poetry  must  be  cast  aside. 
But  he  does  not  realize  that  much  else  has  also  to  be  flung  on  the  scrap-heap. 
Imagination,  in  its  true  sense,  includes  all  those  aesthetic,  moral,  and  spiritual 
faculties  which  are  higher  than  the  intellect— all,  in  fact,  that  raises  man  above 
his  material  existence.  (See  pp.  39,  40,  358.)  With  the  immense  deal  of 
English  poetry  which  Mr.  Livingstone  proposes  to  "  scrap  "  must  go  all 
our  most  beautiful  music,  all  that  is  great  in  painting  (which  is  never  "  direct " 
and  "  truthful  "  in  this  sense,  or  it  would  not  be  great),  all  Greek  statuary, 
and  all  that  expresses  high  moral  and  spiritual  truths  in  our  literature.  I  do 
not  think  that  Mr.  Livingstone  will  find  many  adherents  to  his  new  creed. 

This  critic  also  discusses  style,  and  we  find  that  he  speaks  of  Pope 
as  a  "  great  poet,"  and  apparently  revels  in  his  monotonous  verse ! 
When  pointing  out  that  English  verse,  unlike  what  we  have  left  of  Greek 
poetry,  includes  much  unequal  and  ill-finished  work,  he  says,  "  Of  all  our 
great  poets,  perhaps  only  Milton  and  Pope  can  boast  unfailing  excellence 
of  style." 

As  regards  this  inequality  in  the  work  of  English  poets  the  answer 
is  very  simple.  Mr.  Livingstone  forgets  the  fact — a  very  important  fact 
in  any  speculation  upon  the  scheme  of  the  universe — that  only  the  good 
things  ultimately  survive.  How  very  little  we  have  left  of  many  Greek 
poets !  Of  Sophocles  only  seven  plays  remain  out  of  one  hundred  and 
twenty-seven,  and  the  Fragments  collected  are  said  to  be  very  poor  (many, 
of  course,  are  only  grammatical  illustrations) — and  more  than  half  of  Homer 
must  have  been  dropped.  We  probably  still  have  everything  that  is  best 
in  Greek  literature.  Again,  it  is  not  in  fact  desirable  to  restrict  publi- 
cation to  work  of  the  highest  importance,  and  the  facilities  afforded  by  print- 
ing have  made  it  unnecessary  thus  to  restrict  it — so  that  even  My  Common- 
place Book  is  now,  at  least  temporarily,  part  of  English  literature  1 

Greatly  as  I  admire  Mr.  Livingstone's  book,  I  feel  bound  to  call  atten- 
tion to  a  view  of  poetry  that  must  do  great  harm  to  University  students 
and  others.  I  am  also  bound  to  mention  him  as  an  illustration  of  the  fact 
that  classical  men  usually  imagine  that  their  study  of  the  Greek  and  Latin 
languages  and  literature  qualifies  them  to  become  literary  critics.*  This 
fact  has  impressed  itself  upon  me  from  youth  upwards.  One  of  my  teachers, 
a  man  of  some  weight  in  the  classical  world,  was  in  the  habit  of  saying 
that  only  through  study  of  Latin  and  Greek  could  a  man  learn  to  write  good 
English  It  His  own  English  was  simply  execrable. 

*As  Professor  Darnley  Naylor's  name  appears  at  times  in  this  book  it  is  necessary 
to  mention  that  he  is  so  qualified  and,  therefore,  is  not  one  of  the  gentlemen  referred  to. 
I  may  mention  here  that  Mr.  Livingstone  deserves  censure  for  not  giving  us  an 
index  to  his  valuable  book.  This  neglect,  being  greatly  provocative  of  profanity,  is  an 
offence  against  morality.  Much  loss  of  time  and  irritation  have  been  caused  to  me  in 
looking  up  passages  I  remembered  in  his  book— and  I  have  at  times  given  up  the  search 
in  despair. 

tSee  interesting  remarks  on  Matthew  Arnold  and  Addison  in  Herbert  Spencsr's 
"  Study  of  Sociology."  Note  20  to  Ch.  10.  Professor  Naylor  also  in  the  preface  to  DM 
Latin  and  English  Idiom,  points  out  that  verbally  accurate  translation  of  the  Classics  tend< 
to  ruin  the  English  of  a  student. 


292  SHELLEY 

I  will  now  give  another  instance  where  the  classical  enthusiast,  as  in 
Mr.  Livingstone's  case,  tends  to  exaggerate  the  value  of  his  favourite  literature 
— truly  wonderful  as  it  is.  Gissing' s  Private  Papers  of  Henry  Ryecrojt 
is  an  interesting  book  of  wide  circulation,  in  which  the  author  displays 
great  admiration  for  and  familiarity  with  the  classics.  Speaking  of  Xeno- 
phon's  Anabasis,  he  says,  "  Were  it  the  sole  book  existing  in  Greek,  it  would 
be  abundantly  worth  while  to  learn  the  language  in  order  to  read  it."  That 
is  to  say,  it  would  be  worth  while  expending,  out  of  our  short  lives,  some 
years  of  study  for  the  sole  purpose  of  reading  in  the  original  an  extremely 
simple,  prose  historical  narrative,  which  has  been  excellently  translated  ! 
(If  Gissing  had  said  Homer  instead  of  Xenophon,  no  one  would  have  quar- 
relled with  him.)  Again,  he  says,  "  Many  a  single  line  presents  a  picture  which 
deeply  stirs  the  emotions  " ;  and  he  gives  us  what  he  calls  "  a  good  instance 
of  such  a  line.  A  guide,  who  has  led  the  Greeks  through  hostile  country, 
has  to  return  through  the  same  perilous  district,  and  the  wonderful 
line  is  'Ewel  iaTttpa  tyevero,  yx«T«  TIJJ  VVKT^S  a-iridv.  This  line  Gissing 
translates,  "  When  evening  came  he  took  leave  of  us  and  went  away  by 
night " — a  sentence  which  only  by  inadvertence  could  have  appeared  in, 
say,  a  Times  leader,  seeing  that  the  words  "  by  night "  are  redundant. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  translation  is  incorrect ;  there  is  nothing  about 
"  taking  leave  of  us,"  and  the  meaning  is,  "  As  soon  as  evening  came,  he 
had  slipped  away  into  the  darkness." 

(Professor  Naylor  points  out  to  me  that  the  word  £X«T»  in  this  line  is 
interesting.  It  conveys  the  idea  of  a  swift  or  abrupt  departure  or  disappear- 
ance. It  is  used  in  connection  with  that  most  interesting  man  Alcibiades 
(Xen, //<$.,  2.  i.  26)  and  gives  a  fine  impression  of  his  quick  insolent  temper. 
The  Greek  admirals  had  put  themselves  in  a  position  of  extreme  danger 
and  he  came  to  warn  them  of  their  peril.  Their  reply  was  the  usual  expres- 
sion of  ineptitude,  "  We  are  the  admirals,  not  you  "  ;  and  immediately 
follows  the  one  word  yx(TO,  "he  turned  on  his  heels  and  left  " — and  with 
this  word  Alcibiades  disappears  from  contemporary  history.) 


In  referring  to  Mr.  Livingstone's  remarks  above  I  could  not  use  the 
Sappho  quotation,  because  there  are  certain  initial  questions  that  need  to 
be  first  settled.  (In  briefly  discussing  these  I  must  speak  as  though  I  were 
expressing  definite  opinions,  since  otherwise  the  note  could  not  be  com- 
pressed sufficiently,  but  I  mean  the  following  rather  as  suggestions  which 
may  possibly  be  found  useful.) 

Sappho's   line  is  (Fr,  39)  *Hpoj  fryytAoj  intp6<t>t>i>os  a^Sui/,  which  Mr. 
Livingstone  translates  "  The  messenger  of  spring,  the  lovely-voiced  night- 
" 


ingale."  Now  lutpos  (bimeros)  means  animal  passion,  so  that 
(bimeropbonos)  is  a  strong  word  meaning  singing  of,  or  with,  passion 
—  in  this  case  the  passion  of  the  pairing-time.  Why  then  does  Mr.  Living- 
stone, following  Liddell  and  Scott,  give  the  totally  different  meaning 
"  lovely-voiced  "  ?  Apparently  it  is  because  Theocritus  (XXVIII,  7)  applies 
the  expression  "  himerophonos  "  to  the  Charites,  and,  according  to  the 
current  conception,  those  deities  were  pure  unimpassionate  beings.* 

•  For  example  :  Miss  Jane  Harrison  (Mythology  of  A  ncient  A  thetts)  says  "  all  sweetness 
and  love  "  come  to  mortals  from  the  "  holy  "  Charites  who  "  were  in  the  fullest  sense 
'  givers  of  all  grace.'  "  (That  is  to  say,  these  deities  have  the  attributes  of  God,  who  is, 
of  course,  the  sole  giver  of  all  grace  !  Compare  with  this  Professor  Gilbert  Murray  on 
the  god  Dionytus,  p.  374) 


293 

In  questions  of  this  character,  seeing  that  the  Greek  gods  were  guilty 
of  every  form  of  immorality  and  the  Greeks  themselves  were  one  of  the  most 
sensual  nations  that  ever  existed,  the  presumption  is  in  favour  of  impurity  : 
the  onus  of  proof  is  on  those  who  allege  purity.  I  have  not  undertaken 
the  heavy  work  of  looking  up  the  innumerable  references  to  the  Charites 
in  Greek  literature,  but  I  know  of  nothing  that  supports  the  prevalent 
conception  of  those  deities.  Apart  from  the  fact  that  Theocritus  uses  the 
word  himerophonos,  Meleager  (Anth.  Pal,  V,  195)  speaks  of  himeros  as  con- 
ferred by  the  Charites.  There  is  nothing  in  the  meaning  of  charts,  or  the 
verb  cbarizestbat  to  support  the  current  idea  (both  being  even  used  in  an 
immodest  sense) ;  Homer  identifies  Charis  with  Aphrodite,  with  whom 
Hesiod  also  identifies  Aglaia,  since  each  is  made  the  wife  of  Hephaestus ; 
the  Charites  are  constantly  associated  with  Aphrodite  and  Eros  (and  con- 
sequently with  Himeros,  the  personification  of  passion)  so  that  the  maxim 
Noscitur  a  sociis  applies  ;  Sappho  repeatedly  claims  them  as  her  patrons ; 
as  regards  the  representation  of  the  Charites  in  art,  girl  friendship  would 
be  a  subject  quite  alien  to  the  Greek  mind. 

If  the  view  suggested  is  correct  our  authorities  with  their  precon- 
ceived ideas  presume  to  correct  Theocritus  and  Sappho  1  They  not  only 
give  a  wrong  view  of  the  Charites,  but  also  hide  the  coarseness  of  the  com- 
pliment paid  by  Theocritus  to  his  lady  friend— in  each  case  distorting 
the  truth. 

Mr.  Livingstone  may  have  another  reason  for  altering  the  meaning  of 
"  himerophonos."  He  appears  to  hold  the  opinion  that  a  Greek  writer 
would  not  ascribe  intelligence  or  emotion  to  a  bird,  as  Mrs.  Browning  does  in 
"  To  a  Seamew."  (I  quite  agree  with  him  as  to  the  false,  feminine  sentiment 
in  this  poem.  It  is  mainly  the  "  Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese  "  that  raise 
Mrs.  Browning  above  the  minor  poets.)  Mr.  Livingstone,  for  example, 
translates  1infp6<j><»v'  k\ticr*pt  "  O  cock  that  criest  at  dawn."  This  should 
surely  mean  "  that  announceth  the  dawn  ;  "  the  attitude  and  the  very  crow 
of  the  bird  would  suggest  this  to  the  Greeks  ;  and  the  fowl  did,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  serve  in  place  of  an  alarm-clock  to  them  (see,  for  instance,  Aris- 
tophanes' Birds,  488).  Does  not  Mr.  Livingstone  forget  that  the  Greeks 
attributed  not  only  intelligence  but  also  miraculous  powers  to  animals  (see  p. 
370)  ?  If  so, this  illustrates  another  fact  noticeable  among  classical  authorities. 
They  often  fail  to  consider  all  the  premises  before  arriving  at  a  conclusion. 
Taking  another  illustration  from  Mr.  Livingstone,  he  says  that  the  Greeks 
had  little  of  the  feeling  of  wonder,  did  not  "  muse  on  the  strangeness  of  the 
world,"  and  would  not  have  experienced  the  emotion  Pascal  felt  when  viewing 
the  starry  heavens,  "  The  eternal  silence  of  those  infinite  spaces  terrifies 
me."  The  premise  he  appears  to  omit  here  is  the  fact  of  the  intense  ignorance 
of  the  Greeks.  Their  world  was  a  very  limited  one,  with  its  flat  earth 
and  solid  lid,  certain  bright  objects  conceived  as  gods  or  otherwise  moving 
in  the  intermediate  space.  To  illustrate  this,  Herodotus  (II,  24)  believes 
that  the  sun-god  is  forced  by  the  cold  winds  in  winter  to  move  to  the  warm 
sky  above  Libya  ;  and  in  434  B.C.  (about  the  same  time)  the  great  advanced 
thinker,  Anaxagoras,  is  arrested  for  blasphemy  and  exiled  because  he  taught 
that  the  sun  must  be  a  mass  of  blazing  metal  larger  than  the  Peloponnesus  ! 
Every  thing  in  nature  had  its  god,  whose  action  explained  whatever  happened. 
If  the  Greeks  had  once  realized  the  awful  infinity  of  the  universe  their  whole 
outlook  on  nature  would  have  changed,  and  I  cannot  think  that  so  highly 


294  BUCHANAN- MEREDITH 

intellectual  a  people  would  not  have  been  moved  by  wonder.  I  cannot 
see  any  element  in  "  the  Greek  genius  "  that  would  indicate  this.  (Observe 
Ptolemy's  epigram  on  p.  10.) 

Returning  to  the  Sappho  quotation,  Mr.  Livingstone  translates 
Ijpos  &yyt\ot  literally  as  "  the  messenger  of  spring."  Does  he  mean  the 
messenger  "  sent  by  spring  "  or  "  announcing  spring  "  ?  Presumably  he  does 
not  mean  the  latter,  as  it  would  impute  intelligence  or  emotion  to  the  bird. 
But,  if  we  accept  the  former  interpretation,  it  leads  to  the  curious  result 
that  the  poet,  not  content  with  a  Goddess  of  Spring  and  the  Hours  who 
represent  the  seasons,  intends  still  further  to  personify  spring.  Is  not 
the  true  meaning  of  Sappho's  words  "the  nightingale  with  its  passionate 
song  sent  (by  Proserpine)  to  let  men  know  that  spring  is  approaching  "  ? 
This  is  not  mere  captious  criticism.  To  Sappho  the  goddess  Proserpine 
was  a  concrete  being  with  some  sort  of  corporeal  form,  who  brings  a  thing 
called  spring,  and  who  actually  does  send  the  nightingale  ahead  to  sing 
of  the  passion  of  the  pairing-time,  and  thus  let  men  know  that  spring  is 
coming.  There  is  no  poetic  imagery,  no  imaginative  picture  in  the  poet's 
mind,  but  the  statement  of  an  actual  fact.  See  also  the  reference  to  the 
halcyon,  p.  370.  It  seems  to  me  that,  in  this  as  in  other  cases,  our  classical 
authorities  fail  to  place  themselves  in  the  position  of  the  Greeks.  Here  they 
interpret  as  imagination  what  was  meant  as  reality.  (However,  as  I  have 
said  before,  the  above  are  merely  suggestions  which  I  myself  hope  to  con- 
sider further;  but,  until  we  knew  exactly  what  Sappho's  verse  meant, 
it  could  not  be  brought  into  the  discussion  of  Mr.  Livingstone's  views.) 


AH  !  the  weariness  and  weight  of  tears, 
The  crying  out  to  God,  the  wish  for  slumber, 
They  lay  so  deep,  so  deep  !     God  heard  them  all ; 
He  set  them  unto  music  of  his  own. 

R.  BUCHANAN,  1866 

(Bexhill). 

Buchanan  is  speaking  of  the  sad  lives  in  the  poor  quarters  of  London 


COLD  as  a  mountain  in  its  star-pitched  tent 
Stood  high  Philosophy,  less  friend  than  foe  : 
Whom  self -caged  Passion,  from  its  prison-bars, 
Is  always  watching  with  a  wondering  hate. 
Not  till  the  fire  is  dying  in  the  grate 
Look  we  for  any  kinship  with  the  stars. 

G.  MEREDITH 

(Modern  Love  IV.) 


FOX— SENECA  295 

A  fine  expression  of  a  familiar  fact.  Under  the  influence  of  love, 
anger,  or  other  strong  passion,  a  man  becomes  an  unreasoning  animal, 
and  actually  h&tes  to  be  told  the  truth.  Wild  passion  glares  through  the 
bars  of  its  self-constituted  cage  at  philosophy  standing  calm,  lofty,  and 
serene.  Only  "  when  the  fire  is  dying  in  the  grate  "  do  we  again  become 
akin  to  cold,  dispassionate,  star-like  Philosophy. 


triumph  of  machinery  is  when  man  wonders  at  his  own 
works  ;  thus,  says  Derwent  Coleridge,  all  science  begins  in  wonder 
and  ends  in  wonder,  but  the  first  is  the  wonder  of  ignorance,  the 
last  that  of  adoration. 

CAROLINE  Fox's  JOURNALS. 

Evidently  a  comment  on  S.  T.  Coleridge's  Aphorism  IV.  on  "Spiritual 
Religion"  (Aids  to  Reflection). 


NO  one  of  himself  can  rise  out  of  the  depths,  but  must  clasp 
some  outstretched  hand. 

SENKCA  (?   3  B.C.-65  A.D.). 

(Epistle  52). 


THE  RIME  OF  REDEMPTION 


THE  ways  are  white  in  the  moon's  light, 

Under  the  leafless  trees  : 
Strange  shadows  go  across  the  snow 

Before  the  tossing  breeze 


The  burg  stands  grim  upon  the  rim 
Of  the  low  wooded  hill : 

Sir  lyoibich  sits  beside  the  hearth, 
Fill'd  with  a  thought  of  ill. 


The  knight  sits  bent  with  eyes  intent 

Upon  the  dying  fire  ; 
Sad  dreams  and  strange  in  sooth  do  range 

Before  the  troubled  sire. 


296  PAYNE 


He  sees  the  maid  the  past  years  laid 

Upon  his  breast  to  sleep, 
Long  dead  in  sin.  laid  low  within 

The  grave  unblest  and  deep. 

He  hears  her  wail,  with  lips  that  fail, 

To  him  to  save  her  soul ; 
He  sees  her  laid,  unhouseled,* 

Under  the  crossless  knoll. 

"  Ah  !  would,  dear  Christ,  my  tears  sufficed 

To  ransom  her  !  "  he  cries  : 
"  Sweet  Heaven,  to  win  her  back  from  sin, 

I  would  renounce  the  skies. 

"  Could  I  but  bring  her  suffering 

To  pardon  and  to  peace, 
I  for  my  own  sin  would  atone, 

Where  never  pain  doth  cease  ! 

"  I  for  my  part  would  gnaw  my  heart, 
Chain'd  in  the  flames  of  hell ; 

I  would  abide,  unterrified, 

More  than  a  man  shall  tell." 


The  moon  is  pale,  the  night  winds  wail, 
Weird  whispers  fill  the  night : 

"  Dear  heart,  what  word  was  that  I  heard 
Ring  out  in  the  moonlight  ?  " 

'Twas  but  the  blast  that  hurried  past, 
Shrieking  among  the  pines  ; 

The  souls  that  wail  upon  the  gale, 
When  the  dim  starlight  shines. 

Great  God  !  the  name  !  once  more  it  came 

Ringing  across  the  dark  ! 
"  I^oibich  !  "  it  cried.     The  night  is  wide, 

The  dim  pines  stand  and  hark. 

"  Loibich  !  Loibich  !  my  soul  is  sick 
With  hungering  for  thee  ! 

The  night  fades  fast,  the  hours  fly  past  ; 
Stay  not,  come  forth  to  me  !  " 

LJnsbriven,  without  having  received  the  sacrament. 


PAYNE  207 

The  clouchvrack  grey  did  break  away, 

Out  shone  the  ghostly  moon  ; 
Down  slid  the  ha/e  from  off  the  ways 

Before  her  silver  shoon. 

Pale  silver-ray'd,  out  shone  the  glade, 

Before  the  castle  wall, 
And  on  the  lea  the  knight  could  see 

A  maid  both  fair  and  tall. 

Gold  was  her  hair,  her  face  was  fair, 

As  fair  as  fair  can  be  ; 
But  through  the  night  the  blue  corpse-light 

About  her  could  he  see. 

She  raised  her  face  towards  the  place 

Where  Loibich  stood  adread  ; 
There  was  a  sheen  in  her  two  een, 

As  one  that  long  is  dead. 

She  look'd  at  him  in  the  light  dim, 

And  beckon'd  with  her  hand  : 
"  Dear  Knight,"  she  said,  "  thy  prayer  hath  sped 

Unto  the  heavenly  land. 

"  Come  forth  with  me  :  the  night  is  free 

For  us  to  work  the  thing 
That  is  to  do,  before  we  two 

Shall  hear  the  dawn-bird  sing. 


"  Saddle  thy  steed,  Sir  Knight,  with  speed, 
Thy  faithfullest,"  quoth  she, 

"  For  many  a  tide  we  twain  must  ride 
Before  the  end  shall  be." 

The  steed  is  girt,  black  Dagobert, 

Swift -footed  as  the  wind  ; 
The  knight  leapt  up  upon  his  croup, 

The  maid  sprang  up  behind. 

The  wind  screams  past ;  they  ride  so  fast,— 

Like  troops  of  souls  in  pain 
The  snowdrifts  spin,  but  none  may  win 

To  rest  upon  the  twain. 


298  PAYNE 


>So  fast  they  ride,  the  blasts  divide 

To  let  them  hurry  on  ; 
The  wandering  ghosts  troop  past  in  hosts 

Across  the  moonlight  wan. 


A  singing  light  did  cleave  the  night, 

High  up  a  hill  rode  they  ; 
The  veils  of  Heaven  for  them  were  riven, 

And  all  the  skies  pour'd  day. 

The  golden  gate  did  stand  await, 

The  geld  en  town  did  lie 
Before  their  sight,  the  realms  of  light 

God  builded  in  the  sky. 

The  steed  did  wait  before  the  gate, 
Sheer  up  the  street  look'd  they, 

They  saw  the  bliss  in  Heaven  that  is, 
They  saw  the  saints'  array. 

They  saw  the  hosts  upon  the  coasts 

Of  the  clear  crystal  sea  ; 
They  saw  the  blest'  that  in  the  rest 

Of  Christ  for  ever  be. 

The  choirs  of  God  pulsed  full  and  broad 

Upon  the  ravish'd  twain  ; 
The  angels'  feet  upon  the  street 

Rang  out  like  golden  rain. 


Then  said  the  maid,  "  Be  not  afraid, 
God  giveth  heaven  to  thee  ; 

Light  down  and  rest  with  Christ  His  blest, 
And  think  no  more  of  me  !  " 


Sir  Loibich  gazed,  as  one  sore  dazed, 

Awhile  upon  the  place  ; 
Then,  with  a  sigh,  he  turned  his  eye 

Upon  the  maiden's  face. 

"  By  Christ  His  troth  !  "  he  swore  an  oath, 
"  No  heaven  for  me  shall  be, 

Unless  God  give  that  thou  shalt  live 
In  heaven  for  aye  with  me." 


PAYNE  299 

"  Ah,  curst  am  I  !  "  the  maid  did  cry  ; 

"  My  place  thou  knowest  well ; 
I  must  begone  before  the  dawn, 
To  harbour  me  in  hell." 

"  By  Christ  His  rest !  "  he  beat  his  breast, 

"  Then  be  it  even  so  ; 
With  thee  in  hell  I  choose  to  dwell 

And  share  with  thee  thy  woe  ! 

"  Thy  sin  was  mine, — By  Christ  His  wine, 

Mine  too  shall  be  thy  doom  ; 
What  part  have  I  within  the  sky, 

And  thou  in  Hell's  red  gloom  ?  " 

The  vision  broke,  as  thus  he  spoke, 

The  city  waned  away  : 
O'er  hill  and  brake,  o'er  wood  and  lake 

Once  more  the  darkness  lay. 


O'er  hill  and  plain  they  ride  again, 

Under  the  night's  black  spell, 
Until  there  rise  against  the  skies 

The  lurid  lights  of  hell. 

The  dreadful  cries  they  rend  the  skies, 

The  plain  is  ceil'd  with  fire  : 
The  flames  burst  out,  around,  about, 

The  heats  of  hell  draw  nighe'r. 

Unfear'd  they  ride  ;  against  the  side 

Of  the  red  flameful  sky 
Grim  forms  are  thrown,  strange  shapes  upgrown 

From  out  Hell's  treasury. 


Fast  rode  the  twain  across  the  plain, 
With  hearts  all  undismay'd, 

Until  they  came  where  all  a-flame 
Hell's  gates  were  open  laid. 

The  awful  stead  gaped  wide  and  red, 
To  gulph  them  in  its  womb  : 

There  could  they  see  the  fiery  sea 
And  all  the  souls  in  doom. 


300  PAYNE 


There  came  a  breath,  like  living  death, 

Out  of  the  gated  way  : 
It  scorched  liis  face  with  its  embrace, 

It  turn'd  his  hair  to  grey. 


Then  said  the  maid,  "  Art  not  dismay  'd  ? 

Here  is  our  course  fulfill'd  : 
Wilt  thou  not  tuna,  nor  rest  to  burn 

With  me,  as  God  hath  will'd  ?  " 

"  By  Christ  His  troth  !"  he  swore  an  oath, 
"  Thy  doom  with  thee  dree  I  ! 

Here  will  we  dwell,  hand-link 'd  in  hell, 
Unsevered  for  aye  !  " 

He  spurr'd  his  steed  ;  the  gates  of  dread 
Gaped  open  for  his  course  : 

Sudden  outrang  a  trumpet's  clang, 
And  backwards  fell  the  horse. 

The  ghostly  maid  did  wane  and  fade, 

The  lights  of  hell  did  flee  ; 
Alone  in  night  the  mazed  wight 

Stood  on  the  frozen  lea. 


Out  shone  the  moon  ;  the  mists  were  blown 

Away  before  his  sight 
And  through  the  dark  he  saw  a  spark, 

A  welcoming  of  light. 

Thither  he  fared,  with  falchion  bared, 

Toward  the  friendly  shine  ; 
Eftsoon  he  came  to  where  a  flame 

Did  burn  within  a  shrine.  . 

Down  on  his  knee  low  louted  he 

Before  the  cross  of  wood, 
And  for  her  spright  he  saw  that  m'ght 

I<ong  pray'd  he  to  the  Rood.* 

And  as  he  pray'd,  with  heart  down-weigh'd, 

A  wondrous  thing  befell : 
He  saw  a  light,  and  through  the  night 

There  rang  a  silver  bell. 


PAYNE— COLERIDGE  301 

The  earth-mists  drew  from  off  his  view. 

He  saw  God's  golden  town  ; 
He  saw  the  street,  he  saw  the  seat 

From  whence  God  looketh  down. 

He  saw  the  gate  transfigurate, — 

He  saw  the  street  of  pearl, 
And  in  the  throng,  the  saints  among, 

He  saw  a  gold-hair'd  girl. 

He  saw  a  girl  as  white  as  pearl, 

With  hair  as  red  as  gold  : 
He  saw  her  stand  among  the  band 

Of  angels  manifold. 

He  heard  her  smite  the  harp's  delight, 

Singing  most  joyfully, 
And  knew  his  love  prevall'd  above 

Judgment  and  destiny. 


Gone  is  the  night,  the  morn  breaks  white 

Across  the  eastward  hill ; 
The  knightly  sire  by  the  dead  fire 

Sits  in  the  dawning  chill. 

By  the  hearth  white,  there  sits  the  knight, 

Dead  as  the  sunken  fire  ; 
But  on  his  face  is  writ  the  grace 

Of  his  fulfill'd  desire. 

JOHN  PAYNE  (b.  1841). 

This  poem  is  cut  down  one-half  and  thereby  loses  much  of  its  effect. 
Two  adventures,  in  which  the  Knight  refuses  temptation  and  adheres 
to  his  oath,  are  entirely  omitted. 


ALAS  !  they  had  been  friends  in  youth  ; 
But  whispering  tongues  can  poison  truth  ; 
And  constancy  lives  in  realms  above  ; 
And  life  is  thorny  ;  and  youth  is  vain  ; 
And  to  be  wroth  with  one  we  love 
Doth  work  like  madness  in  the  brain. 
They  parted — ne'er  to  meet  again  ! 


302  COLERIDGE  AND  OTHERS 

But  never  either  found  another 

To  free  the  hollow  heart  from  paining — 

They  stood  aloof,  the  scars  remaining, 

Like  cliffs  which  had  been  reft  asunder  ; 

A  dreary  sea  now  flows  between. 

But  neither  heat.,  nor  frost,  nor  thunder, 

Shall  wholly  do  away,  I  ween, 

The  marks  of  that  which  once  hath  been. 


S.  T.  COI.ERDIGE 
(Chfistabel) . 


EVEN  such  a  man,  so  faint,  so  spiritless, 

So  dull,  so  dead  in  look,  so  woe-begone, 

Drew  Priam's  curtain  in  the  dead  of  night, 

And  would  have  told  him  half  his  Troy  was  burnt. 

SHAKESPEARE 
(2  Henry  IV.) 

This  and  the  next  five  quotations  are  word-pictures  (see  p.  85). 


THAT  strange  song  I  heard  Apollo  sing, 
While  Ilion  like  a  mist  rose  into  towers.* 

TENNYSON 

(Tithonus). 


COOL  was  the  woodside  ;  cool  as  her  white  dairy 

Keeping  sweet  the  cream-pan  ;  and  there  the  boys  from 

school, 
Cricketing  below,  rush'd  brown  and  red  with  sunshine  ; 

O  the  dark  translucence  of  the  deep-eyed  cool ! 
Spying  from  the  farm,  herself  she  fetched  a  pitcher 
Full  of  milk,  and  tilted  for  each  in  turn  the  beak. 
Then  a  little  fellow,  mouth  up  and  on  tiptoe, 

Said,  "  I  will  kiss  you  :  "  she  laughed  and  lean'd  her 
cheek. 

G.  MEREDITH 

(Love  in  the  Valley). 


*  Homer  tells  us  that  Apollo  and  Poseidon  "  built  "  the  walls  of  Troy  ;  the  legend 
that  Apollo  moved  stones  into  their  places  by  music  is  of  a  later  date.  See  Ovid,  JJeroid ,  1 6 
r8i ;  Propertius  3,  9,  39.  See  also  Tennyson's  "  Oenone." 


WORDSWORTH  AND  OTHERS  303 

ONE  there  is,  the  loveliest  of  them  all, 

Some  sweet  lass  of  the  valley,  looking  out 

For  gains,  and  who  that  sees  her  would  not  buy  ? 

Fruits  of  her  father's  orchard  are  her  wares, 

And  with  the  ruddy  produce  she  walks  round 

Among  the  crowd,  halt  pleased  with,  half  ashamed 

Of  her  new  office,  blushing  restlessly. 

WORDSWORTH 
(The  Prelude,  Bk.  VIII.} 


OUT  came  the  children  running — 

All  the  little  boys  and  girls, 

With  rosy  cheeks  and  flaxen  curls 

And  sparkling  eyes  and  teeth  like  pearls. 

Tripping  and  skipping,  ran  merrily  after 

The  wonderful  music  with  shouting  and  laughter. 

R.  BROWNING 
(The  Pied  Piper  of  Hameliri). 


on  this  casement  shone  the  wintry  moon, 
And  threw  warm  gules  on  Madeline's  fair  breast, 
As  down  she  knelt  for  heaven's  grace  and  boon  ; 
Rose-bloom  fell  on  her  hands,  together  prest, 
And  on  her  silver  cross  soft  amethyst, 
And  on  her  hair  a  glory,  like  a  saint. 

KEATS. 

(The  Eve  of  St.  Agnes). 
The  above  are  from  a  series  of  word-pictures  (see  pp.  86,  122). 


IF  the  collective  energies  of  the  universe  are  identified  with 
Divine  Will,  and  the  system  is  thus  animate  with  an  eternal 
consciousness  as  its  moulding  life,  the  conception  we  frame  of 
its  history  will  conform  itself  to  our  experience  of  intellectual 
volition.  .  It  is  in  origination,  in  disposing  of  new  conditions, 
in  setting  up  order  by  differentiation,  that  the  mind  exercises 


304  MARTINEAU 

its  highest  function.  When  the  product  has  been  obtained, 
and  a  definite  method  of  procedure  established,  the  strain  upon 
us  is  relaxed,  habit  relieves  the  constant  demand  for  creation, 
and  at  length  the  rules  of  a  practised  art  almost  execute  themselves. 
As  the  intensely  voluntary  thus  works  itself  off  into  the  auto- 
matic, thought,  liberated  from  this  reclaimed  and  settled  province 
breaks  into  new  regions,  and  ascends  to  ever  higher  problems  : 
its  supreme  life  being  beyond  the  conquered  and  legislated 
realm,  while  a  lower  consciousness,  if  any  at  all,  suffices  for  the 
maintenance  of  its  ordered  mechanism.  Yet  all  the  while  it 
is  one  and  the  same  mind  that,  under  different  modes  of  activity, 
thinks  the  fresh  thoughts  and  carries  on  the  old  usages.  Does 
anything  forbid  us  to  conceive  similarly  of  the  cosmical  develop- 
ment ;  that  it  started  from  the  freedom  of  indefinite  possibilities 
and  the  ubiquity  of  universal  consciousness  ;  that,  as  intellectual 
exclusions  narrowed  the  field,  and  traced  the  definite  lines  of 
admitted  movement,  the  tension  of  purpose,  less  needed  on  these, 
left  them  as  the  habits  of  the  universe,  and  operated  rather  for 
higher  and  ever  higher  ends  not  yet  provided  for  ;  that  the  more 
mechanical,  therefore,  a  natural  law  may  be,  the  further  is  it 
from  its  source  ;  and  that  the  inorganic  and  unconscious  portion 
of  the  world,  instead  of  being  the  potentiality  of  the  organic 
and  conscious,  is  rather  its  residual  precipitate,  formed  as  the 
Indwelling  Mind  of  all  concentrates  an  intenser  aim  on  the  upper 
margin  of  the  ordered  whole,  and  especially  on  the  inner  life 
of  natures  that  can  resemble  him  ? 

JAMES  MARTINEAU  (1805-1900) 
(Modern  Materialism) . 


The  remarkably  fine  and  suggestive  essay  in  which  this  passage  occurs 
was  written  in  1876,  in  the  course  of  a  discussion  raised  by  Tyndall's  Belfast 
Address.  It  is  not  easy  to  appreciate  the  speculation  that  Martineau 
offers  in  direct  opposition  to  the  theory  of  Darwinism  without  reading  his 
preceding  argument. 

It  may  be  well  to  begin  with  a  quotation  from  his  sermon,  "  Perfection, 
Divine  and  Human  "  :  "  However  vast  and  majestic  the  uniformities  of 
nature,  they  are  nevertheless  finite  :  science  counts  them  one  by  one ;  a 
completed  science  would  count  them  all.  God,  however,  is  not  finite  ; 
He  lives  out  beyond  the  legislation  He  has  made ;  and  His  thought,  which 
defines  the  rules  of  matter,  does  not  transmigrate  into  them  and  cease 
else-how  to  be ;  but  merely  flings  out  the  law  as  an  emanating  act,  and  Himself 
abides  behind  as  Thinking  Power." 

In  the  present  essay  Martineau  first  develops  the  argument  that 
there  is  only  one  Power  that  exercises  all  the  forces  in  the  universe,  whether 
mechanical,  chemical,  or  vital.  That  power  is  God,  the  Indwelling  Mind 
of  the  world.  He  is  of  like  nature  to  (although  infinitely  higher  than) 
His  highest  product,  which  is  conscious,  thinking,  and  willing  man.  Seeing 


BEDDOES  305 

that  God  and  man  are  alike  in  their  natures,  Martineau  proceeds  to  draw 
an  analogy  between  the  history  of  the  world  and  the  history  of  man's  own 
development.  The  Divine  Mind  at  first  consciously  exercises  the  forces 
that  we  know  as  gravitation,  cohesion,  chemical  attraction,  etc. ;  just  33, 
to  take  a  simple  example,  a  baby  has  at  first  consciously  to  use  its  muscles 
and  balance  its  body  in  the  process  of  walking.  Later  the  baby,  having 
formed  the  habit,  does  all  this  unconsciously  and,  while  walking,  can  pay 
attention  to  other  matters.  So  the  Indwelling  Mind  of  the  world  forms  its 
habits  which  we  know  as  the  laws  of  gravitation,  etc.,  and  is  free  to  attend 
to  higher  and  higher  objects.  In  this  progress  there  is  no  evolution  of  the 
organic  from  the  inorganic,  or  of  the  higher  from  the  lower  forms  of  life. 
Inorganic  matter,  having  become  subject  to  fixed  laws,  is  precipitated  and 
dropped  out  of  further  conscious  effort ;  also  each  lower  form  of  life  is  simi- 
larly laid  aside  as  the  Indwelling  Mind  proceeds  to  the  higher  forms,  until 
finally  man  is  reached.  The  highest  result  thus  arrived  at  is  the  production 
of  conscious  Mind.  All  this  involves  what  is  usually  known  as  Special 
Creation,  and  the  idea  of  "  God  at  His  working-bench "  creating  one 
species  after  another  is  regarded  as  absurd.  But  it  is  not  absurd  on  Martin- 
eau's  argument,  because  the  Indwelling  Mind  is  constantly  doing  the  whole 
work  of  the  world  (and  also  because  a  fact  to  be  accounted  for  by  any 
theory  is  that  a  higher  form  of  existence  appears  whenever  the  environment 
is  suitable).  In  the  present  state  of  our  knowledge  Martineau's  speculation 
cannot  be  proved  or  disproved,  but  it  may  contain  the  germ  of  a  true  scheme 
of  the  universe— which  scheme  is  yet  far  to  seek.  In  any  case,  he  makes 
the  important  point  that  the  nature  of  power  in  the  world  must  be  judged 
from  the  best  thing  it  has  done — namely,  the  minds  it  has  produced.  The 
idea  of  a  blind,  unconscious  force  is  incompatible  with  the  fact  that  that 
force  has  produced  conscious  mind.  It  is  the  same  argument  as  the  Psalmist 
uses,  "  He  that  planted  the  ear,  shall  He  not  hear  ?  He  that  formed 
the  eye,  shall  He  not  see  ?  He  that  teacheth  man  knowledge,  shall  not  He 
know  T  "  (Ps.  xciv,  9,  10.)  The  following  (by  whom  written  I  do  not  know) 
has  the  same  idea  :  "  Every  thing  is  a  thought,  and  bears  a  relation  to 
the  thought  that  placed  it  there,  and  the  thought  that  finds  it  there."  It 
is  interesting  to  consider  Martineau's  suggestion  with  that  of  William 
James  on  p.  165. 


lifeless  matter  ;  add  the  power  of  shaping. 
And  you've  the  crystal  :  add  again  the  organs, 
Wherewith  to  subdue  sustenance  to  the  form 
And  manner  of  one's  self,  and  you've  the  plant  : 
Add  power  of  motion,  senses,  and  so  forth, 
And  you've  all  kind  of  beasts  ;  suppose  a  pig  : 
To  pig  add  reason,  foresight,  and  such  stuff, 
Then  you  have  man.     What  shall  we  add  to  man, 
To  bring  him  higher  ? 

T.  Iy.  BEDDOES  (1803-1849) 
(Death's  Jest-Book,  V.  2). 


20 


306  HERBERT 

Death's  Jest-Book  was  published  in  1850,  after  Beddoes'  death;  The 
Origin  of  Species  appeared  in  1859  :  the  passage  is,  therefore,  curious.  In 
suggesting,  however,  development  by  the  addition  of  faculties,  it  affords 
no  explanation  how  those  faculties  came  to  be  added. 


"  OUTLANDISH  PROVERBS  " 

L/OVE  rules  his  kingdom  without  a  sword. 

He  plays  well  that  wins. 

The  offender  never  pardons. 

Nothing  dries  sooner  than  a  tear. 

Three  women  can  hold  their  peace — if  two  are  away. 

A  woman  conceals  what  she  knows  not. 

Saint  Luke  was  a  Saint  and  a  Physician,  yet  is  dead.* 

Were  there  no  hearers,  there  would  be  no  backbiters. 

He  will  burn  his  house  to  warm  his  hands. 

The  buyer  needs  a  hundred  eyes,  the  seller  not  one. 

Ill  ware  is  never  cheap. 

Punishment  is  lame — but  it  comes. 

Gluttony  kills  more  than  the  sword. f 

The  filth  under  the  white  snow  the  sun  discovers. 

You  cannot  know  wine  by  the  barrel. 

At  length  the  fox  is  brought  to  the  furrier. 

Love  your  neighbour,  yet  pull  not  down  your  hedge. 

None  is  a  fool  always,  every  one  sometimes.  J 

In  a  great  river  great  fish  are  found,  but  take  heed  lest 

you  be  drowned. 

I  wept  when  I  was  born,  and  every  day  shows  why. 
The  honey  is  sweet,  but  the  bee  stings. 
Gossips  are  frogs,  they  drink  and  talk. 
He  is  a  fool  that  thinks  not  that  another  thinks. 
He  that  sows,  trusts  in  God. 
He  that  hath  one  hog  makes  him  fat,  and  he  that  hath 

one  son  makes  him  a  fool. 

*  "  Physician,  heal  thyself,"  Luke  iv,  23.  Also,  although  it  is  not  very  apropos, 
see  the  following  from Nicharchus  in  the  Greek  Anthology  (G.  B.  Grundy's  translation):— 

MEDICAL    ATTENDANCE 

Yesterday  the  Zeus  of  stone  from  the  doctor  had  a  call : 
Though  he's  Zeus,  and  though  he's  stone,  yet  to-day's  his  funeral. 

fThis  probably  came  from  Erasmusi    Compare  :— 
"  Bacchus  hath  drowned  more  men  than  Neptune." 

{Lincoln  is  alleged  to  have  said,  :1  You  can  fool  some  of  the  people  all  of  the  time, 
and  all  of  the  people  some  of  the  time,  but  you  cannot  fool  all  of  the  people  all  of  th« 
time." 


HERBERT— ROGERS  307 

Where  your  will  is  ready,  your  feet  are  light. 

A  fair  death  honours  the  whole  hie. 

To  a  good  spender  God  is  the  treasurer. 

The  choleric  man  never  wants  woe. 

Love  makes  a  good  eye  squint. 

He  that  would  have  what  he  hath  not  should  do  what 

he  doth  not. 

A  wise  man  cares  not  for  what  he  cannot  have. 
The  fat  man  knoweth  not  what  the  lean  thinketh. 
In  every  country  dogs  bite. 
None  says  his  garner  is  full. 

To  a  close-shorn  sheep,  God  gives  wind  by  measure.* 
Silks  and  satins  put  out  the  fire  in  the  chimney. 
I/awyers'  houses  are  built  on  the  heads  of  fools. 
It  is  better  to  have  wings  than  horns. 
We  have  more  to  do  when  we  die  than  we  have  done. 

GEORGE  HERBERT'S  Jacula  Prudentum. 

The  reader  may  not  know  of  the  "  saintly  Herbert's  "  collection  of 
"  Outlandish  Proverbs,  Sentences,  etc."  from  which  the  few  examples 
above  are  taken. 


AVAI<ON. 

WE  seek  a  land  beneath  the  early  beams 
Of  stars  that  rise  beyond  the  sunset  gate. 
Where  all  the  year  the  twilight  lingers  late, 
Athwart  whose  coast  the  last-born  sunray  gleams. 
Fair  are  the  fields  and  full  of  pleasant  streams, 
Far  sound  the  hedge-rows  with  the  burgher  bees, 
Soft  are  the  winds  and  taste  of  southern  seas, 
Night  brings  no  longing  there,  and  sleep  no  dreams. 
O  tillerman,  steer  true,  while  we,  who  bow 
Above  the  oar -shafts,  sing  the  land  we  seek, 
I/and  of  the  past,  its  rapture  and  its  ruth  ; 
Future  we  ask  none,  we  are  memories  now, 
We  bear  the  years  whose  lips  no  longer  speak, 
And  round  our  galley's  prow  the  name  is  Youth. 
ROBERT  CAMERON  ROGERS  (b.  1862). 

An  American  author  who  wrote  the  well-known  song,  "  The  Rotary." 

•Showing  that  Sterne's  "  God  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb  "  (Stntimtnlal. 
Journty  )  was  his  rendering  of  an  older  saying. 


3o8  ANONYMOUS 

IP  I  COULD  HOIyD  YOUR  HANDS 

IF  I  could  hold  your  hands  to-night, 

Just  for  a  little  while,  and  know 
That  only  I,  of  all  the  world, 
Possessed  them  so  : 


A  slender  shape  in  that  old  chair, 
If  I  could  see  you  here  to-night, 
Between  me  and  the  twilight  pale- 
So  light  and  frail, 


Your  cool  white  dress,  its  folding  lost 
In  one  broad  sweep  of  shadow  grey 
Your  weary  head  just  drooped  aside, 
That  sweet  old  way, 


Bowed  like  a  flower-cup  dashed  with  rain, 

The  darkness  crossing  half  your  face, 
And  just  the  glimmer  of  a  smile 
For  one  to  trace  : 


If  I  could  see  your  eyes  that  reach 

Far  out  into  the  farthest  sky, 
Where  past  the  trail  of  dying  suns 
The  old  years  lie  : 


Or  touch  your  silent  lips  to-night, 

And  steal  the  sadness  from  their  smile, 
And  find  the  last  kiss  they  have  kept 
This  weary  while. : 


If  it  could  be — Oh,  all  in  vain 

The  restless  trouble  of  my  soul 

Sets,  as  the  great  tides  of  the  moon, 

Toward  your  control  ! 


In  vain  the  longings  of  the  lips, 

The  eye's  desire  and  the  pain  ; 
The  hunger  of  the  heart— O  love, 
Is  it  in  vain  ? 

ANON. 


PATMORE--PATER  3O9 

A  CIBO  biscocto, 
A  medico  indocto, 
Ab  inimico  reconciliato, 
A  mala  muliere 

L,ibera  nos,  Domine. 

(From  twice-cooked  food,  from  an  ignorant  doctor,  from  a  reconciled 
enemy,  from  a  wicked  woman,  Lord,  deliver  us.) 

Old  Monkish  Litany. 


CONSTANCY  REWARDED 


I  VOWED  unvarying  faith,  and  she, 

To  whom  in  full  I  pay  that  vow, 
Rewards  me  with  variety 

Which  men  who  change  can  never  know. 

COVENTRY  PATMORE 

(The  Angel  in  the  House}. 


THE  service  of  philosophy,  of  speculative  culture,  towards 
the  human  spirit  is  to  rouse,  to  startle  it  into  sharp  and  eager 
observation.  Every  moment  some  form  grows  perfect  in  hand 
or  face  ;  some  tone  on  the  hills  or  the  sea  is  choicer  than  the  rest ; 
some  mood  of  passion  or  insight  or  intellectual  excitement 
is  irresistibly  real  and  attractive  for  us — for  that  moment  only. 
Not.  the  frnit  of  experience,  but  experience  itself,  is  the  end. 
A  counted  number  of  pulses  only  is  given  to  us  of  a  variegated, 
dramatic  life.  How  may  we  see  in  them  all  that  is  to  be  seen 
in  them  by  the  finest  senses  ?  How  shall  we  pass  most  swiftly 
from  point  to  point,  and  be  present  always  at  the  focus  where 
the  greatest  number  of  vital  forces  unite  in  their  purest  energy  ? 

To  burn  always  with  this  hard,  gemlike  flame,  to  maintain 
this  ecstasy,  is  success  in  life.  In  a  sense  it  might  even  be 
said  that  our  failure  is  to  form  habits  :  for,  after  all,  habit 
is  relative  to  a  stereotyped  world,  and  meantime  it  is  only  the 
roughness  of  the  eye  that  makes  any  two  persons,  things,  situa- 
tions, seem  alike.  While  all  melts  under  our  feet,  we  may  catch 
at  any  exquisite  passion,  or  any  contribution  to  knowledge  that 
seems  by  a  lifted  horizon  to  set  the  spirit  free  for  a  moment, 
or  any  stirring  of  the  senses,  strange  dyes,  strange  colours,  and 
curious  odours,  or  work  of  the  artist's  hands,  or  the  face  of  one's 
friend.  Not  to  discriminate  every  moment  some  passionate 


3io  PATER— EARLE 

attitude  in  those  about  us,  and  in  the  brilliancy  of  their  gifts 
some  tragic  dividing  of  forces  on  their  ways,  is,  on  this  short 

day  of  frost  and  sun,  to  sleep  before  evening 

We  are  all  under  sentence  of  death  but  with  a  sort  of  inde- 
finite reprieve  :  we  have  an  interval,  and  then  our  place  knows 
us  no  more.  Some  spend  this  interval  in  listlessness,  some  in 
high  passions,  the  wisest,  at  least  among  "  the  children  of  this 
world,"  in  art  and  song.  For  our  one  chance  lies  in  expanding 
that  interval,  in  getting  as  many  pulsations  as  possible  into  the 
given  time.  Great  passions  may  give  us  this  quickened  sense 
of  life,  ecstasy  and  sorrow  of  love,  the  various  forms  of  enthusiastic 
activity,  disinterested  or  otherwise  which  come  naturally  to  many 
of  us.  Only  be  sure  it  is  passion — that  it  does  yield  you  this 
fruit  of  a  quickened,  multiplied  consciousness.  Of  this  wisdom, 
the  poetic  passion,  the  desire  of  beauty,  the  love  for  art's  sake, 
has  most ;  for  art  comes  to  you  professing  frankly  to  give  nothing 
but  the  highest  quality  to  your  moments  as  they  pass,  and  simply 
for  those  moments'  sake. 

WAI/TER  PATER  (1839-1894) 

(The    Renaissance}. 

In  the  Adelaide  edition  of  this  book  this  famous  "  pulsation  "  passage 
appeared  as  originally  written  ;  it  is  now  given  as  Pater  afterwards  altered 
it. 

Pater  was  a  Hellenist  and  preached  the  new  paganism  of  last  century. 
The  Greek  ideal  life  was  supposed  to  be  one  of  purely  aesthetic  enjoyment, 
divorced  from  religious  problems  or  from  any  sense  of  the  higher  in  our 
nature.  Pater,  however,  altered  his  views,  Maritis,  the  Epicurean,  being 
intended  as  a  recantation,  and  he  became  in  effect  an  Anglo-Catholic. 
(See  p.  343  note.) 

Pater  was  "  Rose  "  in  Mallock's  New  Republic. 


A  CHILD 

IS  a  man  in  a  small  Letter,  yet  the  best  copy  of  Adam  before 
he  tasted  of  the  Apple.  ...  He  is  nature's  fresh  picture,  newly 
drawn  in  oil,  which  time  and  much  handling  dims  and  defaces. 
His  soul  is  yet  a  white  paper,  unscribbled  with  observations  of 
the  world,  wherewith  at  length  it  becomes  a  blurred  note- book. 
He  is  purelv  happy,  because  he  knows  no  evil,  nor  hath  made  means 
by  sin  to  be  acquainted  with  misery.  He  kisses  and  loves  all, 
and  when  the  smart  of  the  rod  is  past,  smiles  on  his  beater.  .  . 
His  hardest  labour  is  his  tongue,  as  if  he  were  loth  to  use  so  deceitful 
an  organ.  .  .  .  We  laugh  at  his  foolish  sports,  but  his  game 


EARLE— MII/TON  3 1 1 

is  our  earnest :  and  his  drums,  rattles  and  hobby-horses  but  the 
emblems  and  mocking- of  man's  business.  His  father  hath  writ 
him  as  his  own  little  story,  wherein  he  reads  those  days  of  his  life 
that  he  cannot  remember  ;  and  sighs  to  see  what  innocence  he 
has  outlived.  The  older  he  grows,  he  is  a  stair  lower  from  God  ; 
and,  like  liis  first  father,  much  worse  in  his  breeches.  .  .  Could 
he  put  off  his  body  with  his  little  Coat,  he  had  got  eternity 
without  a  burthen,  and  exchanged  but  one  Heaven  for  another. 

JOHN  EART,E 
(Micro-  Cosmographie,   1628). 


AS  when  a  Gryphon  through  the  wilderness 
With  winged  course,  o'er  hill  and  moory  dale, 
Pursues  the  Arimaspian,  who  by  stealth 
Had  from  his  wakeful  custody  purloined 
The  guarded  gold. 

MILTON 
(Paradise  Lost). 

The  Griffin,  with  head  and  wings  of  a  bird  and  body  of  a  lion,  is  pur- 
suing, "  half  on  foot,  half  flying,"  the  one-eyed  Arimaspian,  who  is  fleeing 
on  horseback  with  the  purloined  gold.  The  Griffins  guarded  mines  of  gold 
and  hidden  treasure.  (Herodotus,  iv,  27.) 


f 


A  WOMAN'S  THOUGHT 

I  AM  a  woman — therefore  I  may  not 

Call  to  him,  cry  to  him, 

Fly  to  him, 

Bid  him  delay  not ! 

Then  when  he  comes  to  me,  I  must  sit  quiet 
Still  as  a  stone-- 
All silent  and  cold. 
If  my  heart  riot — 
Crush  and  defy  it ! 
Should  I  grow  bold, 
Say  one  dear  thing  to  him, 
All  my  life  fling  to  him, 
Cling  to  him — 
What  to  atone 
Is  enough  for  my  sinning  ? 
This  were  the  cost  to  me, 
This  were  my  winning — 
That  he  were  lost  to  tne. 


312  GILDER  AND  OTHERS 

Not  as  a  lover 

At  last  if  he  part  from  me, 
Tearing  my  heart  from  me, 
Hurt  beyond  cure — 
Calm  and  demure 
Then  must  I  hold  me, 
In  myself  fold  me, 
Lest  he  discover  ; 
Showing  no  sign  to  him 
By  look  of  mine  to  him 
What  he  has  been  to  me — 
How  my  heart  turns  to  him, 
Follows  him,  yearns  to  him, 
Prays  him  to  love  me. 

Pity  me,  lean  to  me, 
Thou  God  above  me  ! 


RICHARD  WATSON  GIRDER  (1844-1909), 


OUT  of  lu's  surname  they  have  coined  an  epithet  for  a  knave, 
and  out  of  his  Christian  name  a  synonym  for  the  Devil. 

MACAUI,AY 

(On  Niccolo  MachiaveUi). 


A  wonderful  record,  if  it  were  correct,  but  "  Old  Nick  "  is  said  to  be 
derived  from  Scandinavian  mythology. 


I  SPEAK  truth,  not  so  much  as  1  would,  but  as  much  as  I 
dare  ;  and  I  dare  a  little  the  more  as  I  grow  older. 

MONTAIGNE 
(Essay,  Of  Repentance] 


COLERIDGE  was  holding  forth  on  the  effects  produced  by  his 
preaching,  and  appealed  to  Lamb  :  "  You  have  heard  me  preach, 
I  think  ?  "  "I  have  never  heard  you  do  anything  else,"  was  the 
urbane  reply. 


STERLING  AND  OTHERS  313 

(JOHN  STERLING  said)   Coleridge  is  best  described  in  his 
own  words  : 

His  flashing  eyes,  his  floating  hair  ! 
Weave  a  circle  round  him  thrice, 
And  close  your  eyes  with  holy  dread, 
For  he  on  honey-dew  hath  fed, 
And  drunk  the  milk  of  Paradise.* 


MADAME  DE  STAEIv  was  by  no  means  pleased  with  her  inter- 
course with  him ,  saying  spitefully  and  feelingly,  "  M.  Coleridge  a  un 
grand  talent  pour  le  monologue  "  (Mr.  Coleridge  has  a  great 
talent  for  monologue  "  ). 

CAROLINE  Fox's  JOURNALS. 

Here  we  have  different  views  of  Coleridge's  monologues.  Mrae.  de 
Stael  objected  to  his  monopolizing  the  conversation,  but  his  friends  loved 
to  hear  him.  Lamb,  of  course,  had  to  have  his  joke. 


WHERE  is  the  use  of  the  lip's  red  charm, 
The  heaven  of  hair,  the  pride  of  the  brow, 
And  the  blood  that  blues  the  inside  arm — 
Unless  we  turn,  as  the  soul  knows  how, 
The  earthly  gift  to  an  end  divine  ? 
A  lady  of  clay  is  as  good,  I  trow. 

R.  BROWNING. 


WHAT  things  have  we  seen 

Done  at  the  Mermaid  !  heard  words  that  have  been 
So  nimble  and  so  full  of  subtle  flame, 
As  if  that  every  one  from  whence  they  came 
Had  meant  to  put  his  whole  wit  in  a  jest, 
And  had  resolved  to  live  a  fool  the  rest 
Of  his  dull  life. 

FRANCIS  BEAUMONT 

(Epistle  to  Ben  Jonson). 

What  would  one  not  give  to  have  been  present  at  the  Mermaid  Tavern 
with  the  wonderful  Elizabethans  who  met  there  ?  Among  them  were 
Shakespeare,  Ben  Jonson,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  Beaumont,  Fletcher,  Donne, 
Carew,  and  John  Selden.  One  is  reminded  of  the  Symposium  of  Plato. 

*   Kubla  Khan." 


3 1 4  ELIOT— WARNER 

The  poem  of  Keats  is  well  known  : 

Souls  of  Poets  dead  and  gone, 
What  Elysium  have  ye  known, 
Happy  field  or  mossy  cavern, 
Choicer  than  the  Mermaid  Tavern  T 


ON  a  day  like  this,  when  the  sun  is  hid, 

And  you  and  your  heart  are  housed  together, 

If  memories  come  to  you  all  unhid, 

And  something  suddenly  wets  your  lid, 
Like  a  gust  of  the  out-door  weather, 

Why,  who  is  in  fault  but  the  dim  old  day, 

Too  dark  for  labour,  too  dull  for  play  ? 

AUTHOR  NOT  TRACED. 


A  MAN  can  never  do  anything  at  variance  with  his  own  nature. 
He  carries  with  him  the  germ  of  his  most  exceptional  actions  ; 
and,  if  we  wise  people  make  fools  of  ourselves  on  any  particular 
occasion,  we  must  endure  the  legitimate  conclusion  that  we  carry 
a  few  grains  of  folly  to  our  ounce  of  wisdom. 

GEORGE  EUOT. 


I  UNDERSTAND  those  women  who  say  they  don't  want  the 
ballot.  They  purpose  to  hold  the  real  power,  while  we  go 
through  the  mockery  of  making  laws.  They  want  the  power 
without  the  responsibility. 

CHARGES  DUDLEY  WARNER 

(My  Summer  in  a  Garden). 


IF  we  cannot  find  God  in  your  house  or  in  mine ;  upon  the  road- 
side or  the  margin  of  the  sea  ;  in  the  bvirsting  seed  or  opening 
flower  ;  in  the  day  duty  or  the  night  musing  ;  in  the  general 
laugh  and  the  secret  grief  ;  in  the  procession  of  life,  ever  entering 


MARTINEAU  AND  OTHERS  3*5 

afresh,  and  solemnly  passing  by  and  dropping  off  ;  I  do  not  think 
we  should  discern  Him  any  more  on  the  grass  of  Eden, 
or  beneath  the  moonlight  of  Gethsemane.  Depend  upon  it, 
it  is  not  the  want  of  greater  miracles,  but  of  the  soul  to  perceive 
such  as  are  allowed  us  still,  that  makes  us  push  all  the  sanctities 
into  the  far  spaces  we  cannot  reach.  The  devout  feel  that  wher- 
ever God's  hand  is,  there  is  miracle ;  and  it  is  simply  undevoutness 
which  imagines  that  only  where  miracle  is,  can  there  be  the  real 
hand  of  God.  The  customs  of  Heaven  ought  to  be  more  sacred 
in  our  eyes  than  its  anomalies  ;  the  dear  old  ways,  of  which  the 
Most  High  is  never  tired,  than  the  strange  things  which  He  does 
not  love  well  enough  ever  to  repeat.  And  he  who  will  but 
discern  beneath  the  sun,  as  he  rises  any  morning,  the  supporting 
finger  of  the  Almighty,  may  recover  the  sweet  and  reverent 
surprise  with  which  Adam  gazed  on  the  first  dawn  in  Paradise. 

JAMES  MARTINEAU. 
(Endeavours  after  the  Christian  Life). 


ADVICE,  like  snow,  the  softer  it  falls,  the  longer  it  dwells  upon 
and  the  deeper  it  sinks  into  the  mind. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 


MY  burden  bows  me  to  the  knee  ; 

O  Lord,  'tis  more  than  I  can  bear. 

Didst  Thou  not  come  our  load  to  share  ? 
My  burden  bows  me  to  the  knee  : 
Dear  Jesus,  let  me  lean  on  Thee  !  .  .  . 

Far  off,  so  far,  the  Heavens  be, 

With  their  wide  arms  !  and  I  would  prove 
The  close,  warm-beating  heart  of  Love. 

But  so  far-off  the  Heavens  be  : 

Dear  Jesus,  let  me  lean  on  Thee  ! 

GERALD  MASSEY 
(Out  of  the  Depths}. 

This   poem   is   omitted   from   My  Lyrical    Life,    Massey's    collrcttd 
poem*. 


316  TABB  AND  OTHERS 

NIGHT  dreams  of  day,  and  winter  seems 
In  sleep  to  breathe  the  balm  of  May. 
Their  dreams  are  true  anon  ;  but  they, 

The  dreamers,  then,  alas,  are  dreams. 

Thus,  while  our  days  the  dreams  renew 
Of  some  forgotten  sleeper,  we, 
The  dreamers  of  futurity, 

Shall  vanish  when  our  own  are  true. 


J.  B.  TABB, 


THE  MOTHER    WHO   DIED   TOO 

SHE  was  so  little — little  in  her  grave, 

The  wide  earth  all  around  so  hard  and  cold — 
vShe  was  so  little  !  therefore  did  I  crave 

My  arms  might,  still  her  tender  form  enfold. 
She  was  so  little,  and  her  cry  so  weak 

When  she  among  the  heavenly  children  came — 
She  was  so  little — I  alone  might  speak 

For  her  who  knew  no  word  nor  her  own  name. 

EDITH  MATILDA  THOMAS. 


THE  economy  of  Heaven  is  dark  ; 
And  wisest  clerks  have  miss'd  the  mark, 
Why  human  buds,  like  this,  should  fall, 
More  brief  than  fly  ephemeral 
That  has  his  day  ;  while  shrivell'd  crones 
Stiffen  with  age  to  stocks  and  stones  ; 
And  crabbed  use  the  conscience  sears 
In  sinners  ot  an  hundred  years. 

CHARGES  LAMB 
(On  an  infant  dying  as  soon  as  bora). 


OH  dreadful  thought,  if  all  our  sires  and  we 

Are  but  foundations  of  a  race  to  be. — 

Stones  which  one  thrusts  in  earth,  and  builds  thereon 

A  wiute  delight,  a  Parian  Parthenon, 

And  thither,  long  thereafter,  youth  and  maid 

Seek  with  glad  brows  the  alabaster  shade, 


MYERvS— BROWNING  317 

And  in  processions'  pomp  together  bent 
Still  interchange  their  sweet  words  innocent, — 
Not  caring  that  those  mighty  columns  rest 
Bach  on  the  ruin  of  a  human  breast, — 
That  to  the  shrine  the  victor's  chariot  rolls 
Across  the  anguish  of  ten  thousand  souls  ! 

"  Well  was  it  that  our  fathers  suffered  thus," 
I  hear  them  say,  "  that  all  might  end  in  us  ; 
Well  was  it  here  and  there  a  bard  should  feel 
Pains  premature  and  hurt  that  none  could  heal ; 
These  were  their  preludes,  thus  the  race  began  ; 
So  hard  a  matter  was  the  birth  of  Man." 

And  yet  these  too  shall  pass  and  fade  and  flee, 
And  in  their  death  shall  be  as  vile  as  we, 
Nor  much  shall  profit  with  their  perfect  powers 
To  have  lived  a  so  much  sweeter  life  than  ours, 
When  at  the  last,  with  all  their  bliss  gone  by, 
Ivike  us  those  glorious  creatures  come  to  die, 
With  far  worse  woe,  far  more  rebellious  strife 
Those  mighty  spirits  drink  the  dregs  of  life. 

F.  W.  H.  MYERS 
(The  Implicit  Promise  of  Immortality}. 

It  will  be  observed  that  Myers,  like  Swinburne,  handled  the  old  heroic 
couplet  in  a  masterly  manner,  undreamt  of  by  Pope,  Dryden,  and  their 
generation. 


GOD'S  works — paint  any  one,  and  count  it  crime 

To  let  a  truth  slip.     Don't  object,  "  His  works 

"  Are  here  already  ;  nature  is  complete  : 

"  Suppose  you  reproduce  her  (which  you  can't) 

"  There's  no  advantage  !     You  must  beat  her  then." 

For,  don't  you  mark  ?  we're  made  so  that  we  love 

First  when  we  see  them  painted,  things  we  have  passed 

Perhaps  a  hundred  times  nor  cared  to  see  ; 

And  so  they  are  better,  painted — better  to  us 

Which  is  the  same  thing.     Art  was  given  for  that ; 

God  uses  us  to  help  each  other  so, 

lauding  our  minds  out. 

R.  BROWNING 

(Fra  Lippo  Lippi). 


3 1 8  PAYNE— DARWIN 

FOR  the  folk  through  the  fretful  hours  are  hurled 
On  the  ruthless  rush  of  the  wondrous  world, 

And  none  has  leisure  to  lie  and  cull 

The  blossoms,  that  made  life  beautiful 
In  that  old  season  when  men  could  sing 
For  dear  delight  in  the  risen  Spring 

And  Summer  ripening  fruit  and  flower. 

Now  carefulness  cankers  every  hour  ; 
We  are  too  weary  and  sad  to  sing  ; 
Our  pastime's  poisoned  with  thought-taking. 

JOHN  PAYNE 

(Tournesol). 


I  AM  much  engaged,  an  old  man  and  out  of  health,  and  I  can- 
not spare  time  to  answer  your  questions  fully, — nor  indeed  can 
they  be  answered.  Science  has  nothing  to  do  with  Christ,  except 
in  so  far  as  the  habit  of  scientific  research  makes  a  man  cautious 
in  admitting  evidence.  For  myself,  I  do  not  believe  that  there 
ever  has  been  any  Revelation.  As  for  a  future  life  every  man 
must  judge  for  himself  between  conflicting  vague  probabilities. 
Wishing  you  happiness,  I  remain,  &c. 

CHARGES  DARWIN 
(Letter  to  von  Muller,  June  5,  1879). 

This  letter  is  reproduced  in  the  Life  and  Letters,  but  evidently  Francis 
Darwin  did  not  know  that  the  "  German  youth  "  to  whom  he  says  it  was 
written  was  Baron  Ferdinand  von  Muller,  K.C.M.G.  (1825-1896),  then 
fifty-three  years  of  age  1  Von  Muller  was  director  of  the  Melbourne  Botani- 
cal Gardens  from  1857  to  1873,  and  died  in  Melbourne  in  1896.  He  did 
important  work  in  Australian  botany.  * 

As  regards  Darwin's  letter,  it  seems  to  me  that  a  sufficient  reason 
why  a  great  and  lovable  man,  who  was  at  first  a  convinced  believer  in  the 
immortality  of  the  soul,  became  an  agnostic  is  given  in  the  next  quotation. 
The  higher  aesthetic  part  of  his  brain  had  become  atrophied. 

Darwin  himself  thought  that  he  had  not  given  sufficient  consideration 
to  religious  questions  and  was  exceedingly  anxious  that  his  own  agnostic 
views  should  not  influence  others. 


I  HAVK  said  that  in  one  respect  my  mind  has  changed  during 
the  last  twenty  or  thirty  years.  Up  to  the  age  of  thirty,  or 
beyond  it,  poetry  of  many  kinds,  such  as  the  works  of  Milton, 
Gray,  Byron,  Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  and  Shelley,  gave  me  great 


DARWIN  AND  OTHERS  319 

pleasure,  and  even  as  a  school-boy  I  took  intense  delight  in  Shakes- 
peare, especially  in  the  historical  plays.  I  have  also  said  that 
formerly  pictures  gave  me  considerable,  and  music  very  great 
delight.  But  now  tor  many  years  I  cannot  endure  to  read  a  line 
of  poetry  :  I  have  tried  lately  to  read  Shakespeare  and  found  it 
so  intolerably  dull  that  it  nauseates  me.  I  have  also  almost  lost 
my  taste  for  pictures  or  music.  .  .  .  My  mind  seems  to  have 
become  a  kind  of  machine  for  grinding  general  laws  out  of  large 
collections  of  facts,  but  why  this  should  have  caused  the  atrophy 
of  that  (aesthetic)  part  of  the  brain  alone,  on  which  the  higher 
tastes  depend,  I  cannot  conceive.  .  .  .  The  loss  of  these  tastes 
is  a  loss  of  happiness,  and  may  possibly  be  injurious  to  the  intel- 
lect, and  more  probably  to  the  moral  character,  by  enfeebling 
the  emotional  part  of  our  nature. 

CHARGES  DARWIN. 

This  is  from  autobiographical  notes  made  by  Darwin  for  his  children, 
and  not  intended  for  publication. 


GOD  be  thanked,  the  meanest  of  his  creatures 
Boasts  two  soul-sides,  one  to  face  the  world  with, 
One  to  show  a  woman  when  he  loves  her  ! 

R.  BROWNING 

(One  Word  More). 


CHILDREN'S  HYMN  ON  THE  COAST  OF  BRITTANY, 

AT  length  has  come  the  twilight  dim. 

The  sun  has  set,  the  day  has  died  ; 
And  now  we  sing  Thy  holy  hymn, 

O  Mary  maid,  at  eventide. 

To  Jewry,  to  that  far-off  land, 

Erstwhile  there  came  a  little  Child  : 

You  led  Him  softly  by  the  hand, 
He  was  so  very  small  and  mild. 

Like  us,  He  could  not  find  his  way, 
Although  He  was  Our  Lord,  the  King  : 

And  so  we  beg  we  may  not  stray, 
Nor  do  a  sad  or  foolish  thing. 


.320  O'SULLIVAN— WESLEY 

Teach  us  the  prayer  that  Jesus  said, 
The  words  you  sang  and  murmured  low, 

When  He  was  in  His  tiny  bed, 

And  all  the  earth  was  dark  and  slow. 


Hushed  are  the  trees,  and  the  small  wise  bees, 

Our  fathers  are  on  the  deep, — 
Little  Mother,  be  good  to  us,  please  ! 

It  is  time  to  go  asleep. 

VINCENT  O'SUMJVAN. 


WESLEY'S  MEDICAL  PRESCRIPTIONS 

FOR  an  Ague  : — Make  six  middling  pills  of  cobwebs.  Take 
one  a  little  before  the  cold  fit ;  two  a  little  before  the  next  fit 
(suppose  the  next  day)  ;  the  other  three,  if  need  be,  a  little  before 
the  third  fit.  This  seldom  fails. 

A  Cut  : — Bind  on  toasted  cheese.     This  will  cure  a  deep  cut. 

A  Fistula  : — Grind  an  ounce  of  sublimate  mercury  as  fine  as 
possible.  .  .  .  (Two  quarts  of  water  to  be  added,  then  half  a 
spoonful  with  two  spoonfuls  of  water  to  be  taken  fasting  every 
other  day)  ...  In  forty  days  this  will  also  cure  any  cancer,  any 
old  sore  or  King's  evil. 

The  Iliac  Passion  : — Hold  a  live  puppy  constantly  on  the  belly. 

JOHN  WESLEY 
(Primitive  Physic.  Ed.  1780). 

The  iliac  passion,  now  known  as  ileus,  is  a  severe  colic  due  to  intestina 
obstruction. 

It  seems  strange  that  so  eminent  a  man  should  have  believed  in  these 
absurd  prescriptions,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  the  book  generally  is  much 
more  sane  and  sound  than  one  would  expect  from  the  habits  and  state  of 
knowledge  of  the  time.  For  example,  in  his  rules  of  health  Wesley  strongly 
advises  the  practice  of  cold  bathing,  cleanliness,  open-air  exercise,  modera- 
tion of  food,  etc.  Also  these  prescriptions  are  chosen  for  their  absurdity — 
in  each  case  other  more  sensible  remedies  are  offered.  But  Wesley  in  his 
preface  says  that  he  has  omitted  altogether  from  his  book  Cinchona  bark, 
oecause  it  is  "  extremely  dangerous."  This  means  that  in  regard  to  ague 
he  omitted  the  only  efficient  remedy — which  was  much  more  unfortunate 
than  his  prescribing  cobweb  pills. 

This  book  went  to  thirty-six  editions  between  1747  and  1840. 


GASCOIGNE— HUGO  321 

"  WHEN  shall  our  prayers  end  ?  " 
I  tell  thee,  priest,  when  shoemakers  make  shoes, 
That  are  well  sewed,  with  never  a  stitch  amiss, 
And  use  no  craft  in  uttering  of  the  same  ; 
When  tinkers  make  no  more  holes  than  they  found, 
When  thatchers  think  their  wages  worth  their  work, 
When  Davie  Diker  digs  and  dallies  not, 
When  horsecorsers  beguile  no  friends  with  jades, 
When  printers  pass  no  errors  in  their  books, 
When  pewterers  infect  no  tin  with  lead, 
When  silver  sticks  not  on  the  Teller's  fingers, 
When  sycophants  can  find  no  place  in  Court,  .  .  . 
WThen  Lais  lives  not  like  a  lady's  peer 

Nor  useth  art  in  dyeing  of  her  hair 

GEORGE  GASCOIGNE  (1525  P-is;;). 
(The  Steele  Glas). 

our  life  is  a  meeting  of  cross-roads,  where  the  choice  ol 
directions  is  perilous. 

VICTOR  HUGO. 

ROSE-CHEEKED  Laura,  come  ; 
Sing  thou  smoothly  with  thy  beauty's 
Silent  music,  either  other 

Sweetly  gracing. 
Lovely  forms  do  flow 
From  concent  divinely  framed  ; 
Heaven  is  music,  and  thy  beauty's 

Birth  is  heavenly. 
These  dull  notes  we  sing 
Discords  need  for  helps  to  grace  them, 
Only  beauty  purely  loving 

Knows  no  discord, 
But  still  moves  delight, 
Like  clear  springs  renewed  by  flowing, 
Ever  perfect,  ever  in  them- 

Selves  eternal. 

THOMAS  CAMPION  (died  1619). 

Richard  Lovelace  (1618-165;)  subsequently  wrote  (Orpbeus  to  fieasls) : 
O,  could  you  view  the  melodic 
Of  ev'ry  grace, 
And  musick  of  her  face, 
You'd  drop  a  teare, 
Seeing  more  harmonic 
In  her  bright  eye, 
Then  now  you  heare. 

Then=rita«.     Sec  next  quotation. 


322  ELIOT— LANDOR 

I  THINK  the  deep  love  he  had  for  that  sweet,  rounded  blossom- 
like  dark-eyed  Hetty,  of  whose  inward  self  he  was  really  very 
ignorant,  came  out  of  the  very  strength  of  his  nature,  and  not  out 
of  any  inconsistent  weakness.  Is  it  any  weakness,  pray,  to  be 
wrought  on  by  exquisite  music  ? — to  feel  its  wondrous  harmonies 
searching  the  subtlest  windings  of  your  soul,  the  delicate  fibres 
of  life  where  no  memory  can  penetrate,  and  binding  together 
your  whole  being  past  and  present  in  one  unspeakable  vibration  : 
melting  you  in  one  moment  with  all  the  tenderness,  all  the  love 
that  has  been  scattered  through  the  toilsome  years  :  concentrating 
in  one  emotion  of  heroic  courage  or  resignation  all  the  hard- 
learnt  lessons  of  self-renouncing  sympathy  :  blending  your  present 
joy  with  past  sorrow,  and  your  present  sorrow  with  all  your  past 
joy  ?  If  not,  then  neither  is  it  a  weakness  to  be  so  wrought 
upon  by  the  exquisite  curves  of  a  woman's  cheek  and  neck  and 
arms,  by  the  liquid  depths  of  her  beseeching  eyes,  or  the  sweet 
childish  pout  of  her  lips.  For  the  beauty  of  a  lovely  woman  is 
like  music  :  what  can  one  say  more  ?  Beauty  has  an  expression 
beyond  and  far  above  the  one  woman's  soul  that  it  clothes, 
as  the  words  of  genius  have  a  wider  meaning  than  the  thought 
that  prompted  them  :  it  is  more  than  a  woman's  love  that  moves 
us  in  a  woman's  eyes — it  seems  to  be  a  far-off  mighty  love  that 
has  come  near  to  us,  and  made  speech  for  itself  there  ;  the  rounded 
neck,  the  dimpled  arm,  move  us  by  something  more  than  their 
prettiness — by  their  close  kinship  with  all  we  have  known  of 
tenderness  and  peace.  The  noblest  nature  sees  the  most  of  this 
impersonal  expression  in  beauty,  and  for  this  reason,  the  noblest 
nature  is  often  the  most  blinded  to  the  character  of  the 
woman's  soul  that  the  beauty  clothes.  Whence,  I  fear,  the 
tragedy  of  human  life  is  likely  to  continue  for  a  long  time  to 
come  in  spite  of  mental  philosophers  who  are  ready  with  the 
best  receipts  for  avoiding  all  mistakes  of  the  kind. 

GEORGE  EWOT 
(Adam  Bede). 

George  Eliot  would  not  know  the  preceding  poem  by  Campion,  whose 
lyrics  had  been  forgotten  until  A.  H.  Bullen  revived  them  in  1889;  and 
most  probably  also  she  did  not  know  Lovelace's  poem,  as  it  is  not  one  of  the 
two  or  three  lyrics  by  which  alone  he  is  remembered. 

AI^AS,  how  soon  the  hours  are  over 

Counted  us  out  to  play  the  lover  ! 

And  how  much  narrower  is  the  stage 

Allotted  us  to  play  the  sage  ! 

But  when  we  play  the  fool,  how  wide 

The  theatre  expands  !  beside, 

How  long  the  audience  sits  before  us  ! 

How  many  prompters  !     What  a  chorus  ! 

W.  S.  LANDOR. 


CARIyYl,E"PHII,UPS  323 

THE  degree  of  vision  that  dwells  in  a  man  is  a  correct  measure 
of  the  man.  If  called  to  define  Shakespeare's  faculty,  I  should 
say  superiority  of  Intellect,  and  think  I  had  included  all 
under  that.  What  indeed  are  faculties  ?  We  talk  of  faculties 
as  if  they  were  distinct,  things  separable  ;  as  if  a  man  had  intellect, 
imagination,  fancy,  &c.,  as  he  has  hands,  feet,  and  arms.  That 
is  a  capital  error.  Then  again,  we  hear  of  a  man's  "  intellectual 
nature,"  and  of  his  "  moral  nature,"  as  if  these  again  were  divisible 
and  existed  apart.  .  .  .  We  ought  to  know,  and  to  keep  forever 
in  mind,  that  these  divisions  are  at  bottom  but  names  ;  that  man's 
spiritual  nature,  the  vital  Force  which  dwells  in  him,  is  essentially 
one  and  indivisible  ;  that  what  we  call  imagination,  fancy,  under- 
standing, and  so  forth,  are  but  different  figures  of  the  same 
Power  of  Insight,  all  indissolubly  connected  with  each  other, 
physiognomically  related  ;  that  if  we  knew  one  of  them,  we  might 
know  all  of  them.  Morality  itself,  what  we  call  the  moral  quality 
of  a  man,  what  is  this  but  another  side  of  the  one  vital 
Force  whereby  he  is  and  works  ?.  .  .  .  Without  hands  a  man 
might  have  feet,  and  could  still  walk  :  but,  consider  it, — without 
morality,  intellect  were  impossible  for  him  ;  a  thoroughly  immoral 
man  could  not  know  anything  at  all !  To  know  a  thing,  what 
we  can  call  knowing,  a  man  must  first" love  the  thing,  sympathize 
with  it ;  that  is,  be  virtuously  related  to  it.  ...  iSTature,  with 
her  truth,  remains  to  the  bad,  to  the  selfish  and  the  pusillanimous 
forever  a  sealed  book  :  what  such  can  know  of  Nature  is  mean, 
superficial,  small. 

CARI,YI,E 
(Heroes  and  Hero  Worship.  III). 


A  UTTIvE  I  will  speak.     I  love  thee  then 
Not  only  for  thy  body  packed  with  sweet 
Of  all  this  world.  .  .  . 
Not  for  this  only  do  I  love  thee,  but 
Because  Infinity  upon  thee  broods  ; 
And  thou  art  full  of  whispers  and  of  shadows. 
Thou  meanest  what  the  sea  has  striven  to  say 
So  long,  and  yearned  up  the  cliffs  to  tell ; 
Thou  art  what  all  the  winds  have  uttered  not, 
What  the  still  night  suggesteth  to  the  heart. 
Thy  voice  is  like  to  music  heard  ere  birth, 
Some  spirit  lute  touched  on  a  spirit  sea  ; 
Thy  face  remembered  is  from  other  worlds, 
It  has  been  died  for,  though  I  know  not  when, 
It  has  been  sung  of,  though  I  know  not  where. 

STEPHEN  PHILIPS 

(Marpessa] . 


SOMETIMES  them  seem'st  not  as  thyself  alone, 
But  as  the  meaning  of  all  things  that  are. 

D.  G.  ROSSETTI 
(Heart's  Compass] 


"  IMBUTA  " 

THE  new  wine,  the  new  wine, 

It  tasteth  like  the  old, 
The  heart  is  all  athirst  again, 

The  drops  are  all  of  gold  ; 
We  thought  the  cup  was  broken. 

And  we  thought  the  tale  was  told, 
But  the  new  wine,  the  new  wine, 

It  tasteth  like  the  old  ! 


The  flower  of  life  had  faded, 

The  leaf  was  in  its  fall, 
The  winter  seemed  so  early 

To  have  reached  us,  once  for  all ; 
But  now  the  buds  are  breaking, 

There  is  grass  above  the  mould, 
And  the  new  wine,  the  new  wine, 

It  tasteth  like  the  old  ! 


The  earth  had  grown  so  dreary, 

The  sky  so  dull  and  grey  ; 
One  was  weeping  in  the  darkness, 

One  was  sorrowing  through  the  day  : 
But  a  light  from  heaven  gleams  again, 

On  water,  wood,  and  wold, 
And  the  new  wine,  the  new  wine, 

It  tasteth  like  the  old  ! 


For  the  loving  lips  are  laughing, 

And  the  loving  face  is  fair, 
Though  a  phantom  hand  is  on  the  board, 

And  phantom  eyes  are  there  ; 
The  phantom  eyes  are  soft  and  sad, 

The  phantom  hand  is  cold, 
But  the  new  wine,  the  new  wine, 

It  tasteth  like  the  old  ! 


WHYTE-META'II/LE  AND  OTHER S  3*5 

We  dare  not  look,  we  turn  away, 

The  precious  draught  to  drain, 
'Twere  worse  than  madness,  surely  now, 

To  lose  it  all  again  ; 
To  quivering  lip,  with  clinging  grasp, 

The  fatal  cup  we  hold, 
For  the  new  wine,  the  new  wine, 

It  tasteth  like  the  old  ! 
And  life  is  short,  and  love  is  life, 

And  so  the  tale  is  told, 
Though  the  new  wine,  the  new  wine, 

It  tasteth  like  the  old. 

G.  J.  WiiYTR-M^vii.i.E. 

The  title  evidently  refers  to  Horace  Ep.  i,  2,  69,  70,  Quo  semel  est 
Imbuta  recens  servabit  odorem  testa  diu.  "  The  scent  which  once  has 
flavoured  the  fresh  jar  will  be  preserved  in  it  for  many  a  day."  Moore 
no  doubt  had  the  same  passage  in  his  mind  when,  speaking  of  the  memories 
of  past  joys,  he  wrote  : 

You  may  break,  you  may  ruin  the  vase  if  you  will, 
But  the  scent  of  the  roses  will  hang  round  it  still. 

So  Whyte-Melville  says  that  when  love  is  poured  again  into  the  heart  of  a 
man  who  has  lost  his  first  love,  "  The  new  wine,  the  new  wine,  It  tasteth 
like  the  old." 


I  STROVE  with  none,  for  none  was  worth  my  strife, 
Nature  I  loved  and,  next  to  Nature,  Art : 

I  warm'd  both  hands  before  the  fire  of  Life  ; 
It  sinks,  and  I  am  ready  to  depart. 

W.    vS.    IvANDOR. 


THE  Toucan  has  an  enormous  bill,  makes  a  noise  like  a  puppy 
dog,  and  lays  his  eggs  in  hollow  trees.  How  astonishing  are  the 
freaks  and  fancies  of  nature  !  To  what  purpose,  we  say,  is  a  bird 
placed  in  the  woods  of  Cayenne  with  a  bill  a  yard  long,  making 
a  noise  like  a  puppy  dog,  and  laying  eggs  in  hollow  trees  ?  The 
Toucans,  to  be  sure,  might  retort,  to  what  purpose  were  gentle- 
men in  Bond  Street  created  ?  To  what  purpose  were  certain 
foolish  prating  Members  of  Parliament  created  ? — pestering 
the  House  of  Commons  with  their  ignorance  and  folly,  and  imped- 
ing the  business  of  the  country  ?  There  is  no  end  of  such  questions. 
So  we  will  not  enter  into  the  metaphysics  of  the  Toucan. 

SYDNEY  SMITH 
(Review  of  "  Waterlon's  Travels  in  South  America  "). 


326  MEREDITH 

ABOVE  green-flashing  plunges  of  a  weir,  and  shaken  by  the 
thunder  below,  lilies,  golden  and  white,  were  swaying  at  anchor 
among  the  reeds.  Meadow-sweet  hung  from  the  banks  thick 
with  weed  and  trailing  bramble,  and  there  also  hung  a  daughter 
of  earth .  Her  face  was  shaded  by  a  broad  straw  hat  with  a  flexible 
brim  that  left  her  lips  and  chin  in  the  sun,  and,  sometimes  nodding, 
sent  forth  a  light  of  promising  eyes.  Across  her  shoulders,  and 
behind,  flowed  large  loose  curls,  brown  in  shadow,  almost  golden 
where  the  ray  touched  them.  She  was  simply  dressed,  befitting 
decency  and  the  season.  On  a  closer  inspection  you  might 
see  that  her  lips  were  stained.  This  blooming  young  person  was 
regaling  on  dewberries.  They  grew  between  the  bank  and  the  water. 
Apparently  she  found  the  fruit  abundant,  for  her  hand  was 
making  pretty  progress  to  her  mouth.  Fastidious  youth,  which 
revolts  at  woman  plumping  her  exquisite  proportions  on  bread- 
and-butter,  and  would  (we  must  suppose)  joyfully  have  her 
scraggy  to  have  her  poetical,  can  hardly  object  to  dewberries. 
Indeed  the  act  of  eating  them  is  dainty  and  induces  musing. 
The  dewberry  is  a  sister  to  the  lotus,  and  an  innocent  sister. 
You  eat :  mouth,  eye,  and  hand  are  occupied,  and  the  undrugged 
mind  free  to  roam.  And  so  it  was  with  the  damsel  who  knelt 
there.  The  little  skylark  went  up  above  her,  all  song,  to  the 
smooth  southern  cloud  lying  along  the  blue  :  from  a  dewy  copse 
dark  over  her  nodding  hat  the  blackbird  fluted,  calling  to  her 
with  thrice  mellow  note  :  the  kingfisher  flashed  emerald  out  of 
green  osiers :  a  bow- winged  heron  travelled  aloft,  seeking  solitude  : 
a  boat  slipped  toward  her,  containing  a  dreamy  youth  ;  and  still 
she  plucked  the  fruit,  and  ate,  and  mused,  as  if  no  fairy  prince  were 
invading;  her  territories,  and  as  if  she  wished  not  for  one,  or  knew 
not  her~  wishes.  Surrounded  by  the  green  shaven  meadows, 
the  pastoral  summer  buzz,  the  weirfall's  thundering  white, 
amid  the  breath  and  beauty  of  wild  flowers,  she  was  a  bit  of 
lovely  human  life  in  a  fair  setting  ;  a  terrible  attraction.  The 
Magnetic  Youth  leaned  round  to  note  his  proximity  to  the  weir- 
piles,  and  beheld  the  sweet  vision.  Stiller  and  stiller  grew  nature, 
as  at  the  meeting  of  two  electric  clouds.^  Her  posture  was  so 
graceful,  that  though  he  was  making  straight  for  the  weir,  he  dared 
not  dip  a  scull.  Just  then  one  enticing  dewberry  caught  her  eyes. 
He  was  floating  by  unheeded,  and  saw  that  her  hand  stretched 
low,  and  could  not  gather  what  it  sought.  A  stroke  from  his 
right  brought  him  beside  her.  The  damsel  glanced  up  dismayed, 
and  her  whole  shape  trembled  over  the  brink.  Richard  sprang 
from  his  boat  into  the  water.  Pressing  a  hand  beneath  her 
foot,  which  she  had  thrust  against  the  crumbling  wet  sides  of 
the  bank  to  save  herself,  he  enabled  her  to  recover  her  balance, 
and  gain  safe  earth,  whither  he  followed  her 

To-morrow  this  place  will  have  a  memory — the  river  and 
the  meadow,  and  the  white  falling  weir  :  his  heart  will  build  a 


CHARLES  TENNYSON  TURNER  327 

temple  here  ;  and  the  skylark  will  be  its  high-priest,  and  the 
old  blackbird  its  glossy-gowned  chorister,  and  there  will  be  a 
sacred  repast  of  dewberries. 

GEORGE  MEREDITH 
(The  Ordeal  of  Richard  Feverel). 


LETTY'S   GLOBE 

"  WHEN  I/etty  had  scarce  passed  her  third  glad  year, 
And  her  young  artless  words  began  to  flow, 

One  day  we  gave  the  child  a  coloured  sphere 

Of  the  wide  earth,  that  she  might  mark  and  know, 

By  tint  and  outline,  all  its  sea  and  land. 
She  patted  all  the  world  ;  old  empires  peeped 

Between  her  baby  fingers  ;  her  soft  hand 

Was  welcome  at  all  frontiers.     How  she  leaped 
And  laughed  and  prattled  in  her  world-wide  bliss  ; 

But  when  we  turned  her  sweet  unlearned  eye 

On  our  own  isle,  she  raised  a  joyous  cry — 

"  Oh  i  yes,  I  see  it,  I/etty's  home  is  there  !  " 
And,  while  she  hid  all  England  with  a  kiss, 

Bright  over  Europe  fell  her  golden  hair. 

CHARGES  TENNYSON  TURNER. 

Charles  Tennyson,  a  brother  of  Lord  Tennyson  and  author  with  him 
of  Poems  by  Two  Brothers,  took  the  name  of  Turner. 


O  MAY  I  join  the  choir  invisible 

Of  those  immortal  dead  who  live  again 

In  minds  made  better  by  their  presence  :  live 

In  pulses  stirred  to  generosity, 

In  deeds  of  daring  rectitude,  in  scorn 

For  miserable  aims  that  end  with  self. 

In  thoughts  sublime  that  pierce  the  night  like  stars, 

And  with  their  mild  persistence  urge  man's  search 

To  vaster  issues. 

So  to  live  is  heaven  : 
To  make  undying  music  in  the  world  .  .  . 

This  is  life  to  come, 


328  ELIOT 

Which  martyr'd  men  have  made  more  glorious 

For  us  who  strive  to  follow.     May  I  reach 

That  purest  heaven,  be  to  other  souls 

The  cup  of  strength  in  some  great  agony. 

Enkindle  generous  ardour,  feed  pure  love, 

Beget  the  smiles  that  have  no  cruelty — 

Be  the  sweet  presence  of  a  good  diffused, 

And  in  diffusion  ever  more  intense, 

So  shall  1  join  the  choir  invisible 

Whose  music  is  the  gladness  of  the  world. 

GEORGE  EUOT. 


There  is  an  infinite  pathos  in  these  lines.  Having  lost  her  faith  in  a 
future  life,  George  Eliot  tries  to  find  consolation  in  the  thought  that,  when 
she  has  passed  into  nothingness — when  she  "joins  the  choir  invisible" — 
she  will  have  done  something  to  ennoble  the  minds  of  those  who  come  after 
her.  But  why  should  generation  after  generation  of  insect-lives  waste 
themselves  in  raising  and  purifying  the  minds  of  the  generations  that  follow, 
if  all  in  turn  pass  into  nothingness  ?  The  higher  and  purer  men  became, 
the  more  they  would  love  their  fellow-beings  and  the  more  they  would 
shudder  at  the  insensate  pain  and  cruelty  in  the  world — the  physical 
torture  they  themselves  endure,  and  the  mental  torture  both  of  losing  for 
ever  those  they  love  and  of  seeing  the  sufferings  of  others.  One  should 
act  in  conformity  with  one's  belief.  Instead  of  thus  adding  greater  pain 
and  sorrow  to  each  succeeding  generation,  the  effort  should  be  to  coarsen 
and  brutalize  our  natures,  so  that  love,  duty,  and  moral  aspiration  shall 
disappear,  and  we  shall  cease  to  be  saddened  by  the  appalling  cruelty  of 
our  existence.  Our  lives  should,  in  fact,  correspond  with  the  brutal,  ugly 
and  stupid  scheme  of  the  universe. 

This  is  the  direct  answer  to  George  Eliot,  allowing  her  very  important 
assumption  that  we  have  a  duty  towards  others,  including  those  who  come 
after  us.  But  this  assumption  is  logically  unwarranted,  if  at  the  end  of 
our  brief  years  we  pass  into  nothingness  and  have  no  further  concern  with 
any  living  being.  This  brings  us  to  a  familiar  train  of  argument.  Why 
should  we  be  irresistibly  impelled  to  sacrifice  ourselves  for  the  good  of 
others  ?  And,  apart  from  altruism,  why  should  we  develop  our  own 
higher  attributes — why  seek  to  ennoble  our  own  selves,  since  those  selves 
disappear  ?  Why  fill  with  jewels  the  hollow  log  that  is  to  be  thrown  on  the 
fire  ?  Why  are  we  swayed  by  a  sense  of  honour,  a  desire  for  justice,  a  love 
of  purity  and  truth  and  beauty,  a  craving  for  affection,  a  thirst  for  know- 
ledge, which  persist  up  to  the  very  gates  of  death  ?  To  take  an  illustration 
of  Edward  Caird's,  is  not  the  path  of  life  which  is  so  traversed  like  the 
path  of  a  star  to  the  astronomer,  which  enables  him  to  prophesy  its  future 
course — beyond  the  end  which  hides  it  from  our  eyes  ?  Otherwise,  to  use 
another  simile,  it  is  as  though  Pheidias  spent  his  life  sculpturing  in  snow. 

(This  does  not  mean,  as  the  sceptic  usually  sneers,  that  the  virtuous 
man  merely  desires  a  reward  for  his  virtuous  conduct.  It  is  an  inquiry 
why  he  is  virtuous — what  is  a  sane  view  of  the  scheme  of  the  universe.) 


TENNYSON  329 

In  forming  the  conclusion  that  there  was  no  possible  future  for  man. 
George  Eliot  and  an  immense  number  of  other  thinkers  of  her  time  made 
also  the  vast  assumption  that  there  was  nothing  left  to  discover.  Blanco 
White's  sonnet  alone  might  have  taught  them  the  folly  of  such  premature 
judgments.  Or  we  may  take  an  illustration,  used  by  F.  W.  H.  Myers, 
namely,  the  discovery  that,  far  beyond  the  red  and  the  violet  of  the  spectrum 
or  the  rainbow,  extend  rays  that  have  been  (and  will  for  ever  be)  invisible 
to  our  eyes.  Since  George  Eliot's  time  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research 
has  during  the  last  thirty-five  years  accumulated  unanswerable  evidence 
of  survival  after  death. 


WHY  are  we  weigh'd  upon  with  heaviness, 
And  utterly  consumed  with  sharp  distress, 
While  all  things  else  have  rest  from  weariness  ? 
All  things  have  rest :  why  should  we  toil  alone, 
We  only  toil,  who  are  the  first  of  things, 
And  make  perpetual  moan, 
Still  from  one  sorrow  to  another  thrown  : 
Nor  ever  fold  our  wings, 
And  cease  from  wanderings, 
Nor  steep  our  brows  in  slumber's  holy  balm  ; 
Nor  harken  what  the  inner  spirit  sings, 
"  There  is  no  joy  but  calm  !  " 
Why  should  we  only  toil,  the  roof  and  crown  of 
things  ?  .  .  . 


Hateful  is  the  dark-blue  sky, 
Vaulted  o'er  the  dark-blue  sea. 
Death  is  the  end  of  life  ;  ah,  why 
Should  life  all  labour  be  ? 
Let  us  alone.    Time  drive th  onward  fast, 
And  in  a  little  while  our  lips  are  dumb. 
Let  us  alone.     What  is  it  that  will  last  ? 
All  things  are  taken  from  us,  and  become 
Portions  and  parcels  of  the  dreadful  Past. 
Let  us  alone.     What  pleasure  can  we  have 
To  war  with  evil  ?     Is  there  any  peace 
In  ever  climbing  up  the  climbing  wave  ? 
All  tilings  have  rest,  and  ripen  toward  the  grave 
In  silence  ;  ripen,  fall  and  cease  : 
Give  us  long  rest  or  death,  dark  death,  or  dreamful 
ease. 

TENNYSON 

(The  Lotos-Eaters}. 
See  preceding  quotation. 


330  SEELEY— LANDOR 

WE  may  well  begin  to  doubt  whether  the  known  and  the  natural 
can  suffice  for  human  life.  No  sooner  do  we  try  to  think  so  than 
pessimism  raises  its  head.  The  more  our  thoughts  widen  and 
deepen,  as  the  universe  grows  upon  us  and  we  become  accustomed 
to  boundless  space  and  time,  the  more  petrifying  is  the  contrast 
of  our  own  insignificance,  the  more  contemptible  become  the  pet- 
tiness, shortness,  fragility  of  the  individual  hie.  A  moral  paralysis 
creeps  upon  us.  For  awhile  we  comfort  ourselves  with  the 
notion  of  self-sacrifice  ;  we  say,  what  matter  if  I  pass,  let  me 
think  of  others  !  But  the  other  has  become  contemptible  no  less 
than  the  self  ;  all  human  griefs  alike  seem  little  worth  assuaging, 
human  happiness  too  paltry  at  the  best  to  be  worth  increasing. 
The  whole  moral  world  is  reduced  to  a  point ;  good  and  evil, 
right  and  wrong  become  infinitesimal  ephemeral  matters,  while 
eternity  and  infinity  remain  attributes  of  that  only  which  is 
outside  the  sphere  of  morality.  Life  becomes  more  intolerable 
the  more  we  know  and  discover,  so  long  as  everything  widens 
and  deepens  except  our  own  duration,  and  that  remains  as  pitiful 
as  ever.  The  affections  die  away  in  a  world  where  everything 
great  and  enduring  is  cold  ;  they  die  of  their  own  conscious 
feebleness  and  bootlessness. 

SIR  J.  R.  SEEI.EY 

(Natural   Religion). 
See  the  two  preceding  quotations. 


DEATH  stands  above  me,  whispering  low 

I  know  not  what  into  my  ear  : 
Of  his  strange  language  all  I  know 

Is,  there  is  not  a  word  of  fear. 

W.  S.  LANDOR 


LOVE-SWEETNESS 

SWEET  dimness  of  her  loosened  hair's  downfall 
About  thy  face  ;  her  sweet  hands  round  thy  head 
In  gracious  fostering  union  garlanded  ; 

Her  tremulous  smiles  ;  her  glances'  sweet  recall 

Of  love  ;  her  murmuring  sighs  memorial ; 

Her  mouth's  culled  sweetness  by  thy  kisses  shed 
On  cheeks  and  neck  and  eyelids,  and  so  led 

Back  to  her  mouth  which  answers  there  for  all : — 


ROSSETTI— CARLYI,E  331 

What  sweeter  than  these  things,  except  the  thing 
In  lacking  which  all  these  would  lose  their  sweet : — 
The  confident  heart's  still  fervour  :  the  swift  beat 
And  soft  subsidence  of  the  spirit's  wing. 
Then  when  it  feels,  in  cloud-girt  wayfaring, 
The  breath  of  kindred  plumes  against  its  feet  ? 

D.  G.  ROSSETTI. 


JESUS  saith,  Wherever  there  are  two,  they  are  not  without  God  ; 
and  wherever  there  is  one  alone,  I  say,  I  am  with  him.  Raise 
the  stone  and  there  thoit  shalt  find  me  ;  cleave  the  wood  and  there 
am  I. 

(Logia  of  Jesus). 


This  is  one  of  the  Logia  or  Sayings  of  Jesus  written  on  papyrus  in  the 
third  century  and  discovered  in  Egypt  by  Grenfell  and  Hunt  in  1897.  The 
italics,  of  course,  are  mine. 


THE  first  of  all  Gospels  is  this,  that  a  I^ie  cannot  endure  for  ever. 


MEANWHILE  it  is   singular  how  long  the  rotten  will  hold 
together,  provided  you  do  not  handle  it  roughly. 


THERE  are  quarrels  in  which  even  Satan,  bringing  help,  were 
not  unwelcome  ;  even  Satan,  fighting  stiffly,  might  cover  himself 
with  glory — of  a  temporary  nature. 


>  Nothing  but  two  clattering  jaw-bones,  and  a  head 

vacant,  sonorous,  of  the  drum  species. 


332  CARLYLE— KNOWLES 

THOU  art  bound  hastily  for  the  City  of  Nowhere  ;    and  wilt 
arrive  ! 

CARI.YLE 

(French  Revolution) . 

It  is  interesting  to  learn  from  a  correspondent  of  The  Spectator  (Feb. 
17,  1917)  that  Carlyle  wrote  two  verses  which  he  combined  with  Shakes- 
peare's "  Fear  no  more  the  heat  o'  the  sun  "  (Cymbeline  iv,  2)  to  make  a 
requiem,  of  which  he  was  very  fond  : 

Fear  no  more  the  heat  o'  the  sun, 

Nor  the  furious  winter's  rages  ; 
Thou  thy  worldly  task  hast  done, 

Home  art  gone,  and  ta'en  thy  wages. 


Hurts  thee  now  no  harsh  behest, 
Toil,  or  shame,  or  sin,  or  danger ; 

Trouble's  storm  has  got  to  rest, 
To  his  place  the  wayworn  stranger. 


Want  is  done,  and  grief  and  pain, 
Done  is  all  thy  bitter  weeping  : 

Thou  art  safe  from  wind  and  rain 
In  the  Mother's  bosom  sleeping. 


Fear  no  more  the  heat  o'  the  sun, 
Nor  the  furious  winter's  rages  : 

Thou  thy  worldly  task  hast  done, 
Home  art  gone  and  ta'en  thy  wages. 


IT  takes  two  for  a  kiss, 

Only  one  for  a  sigh  ; 
Twain  by  twain  we  marry, 

One  by  one  we  die. 
Joy  has  its  partnerships, 

Grief  weeps  alone  ; 
Cana  had  many  guests. 

Gethsemane  had  none. 

FREDERIC  LAWRENCE  KNOWLES. 


Byron  in  "  Don  Juan  "  says  : 

All  who  joy  would  win  must  share  it, 
Happiness  was  born  a  twin. 


ELIOT  AND  OTHERS  333 

(SPEAKING  of  the  rare  and  exalted  nature  of  Dorothea,  who 
has  adopted  the  normal,  domestic  married  life)  Her  finely- 
touched  spirit  had  still  its  fine  issues,  though  they  were  not  widely 
visible.  Her  full  nature,  like  that  river  of  which  Cyrus  broke  the 
strength,  spent  itself  in  channels  which  had  no  great  name  on 
the  earth.  But  the  effect  of  her  being  on  those  around  her  was 
incalculably  diffusive  ;  for  the  growing  good  of  the  world  is  partly 
dependent  on  unhistoric  acts  ;  and  that  things  are  not  so  ill  with 
you  and  me,  as  they  might  have  been,  is  half  owing  to  the 
number  who  lived  faithfully  a  hidden  life,  and  rest  in  unvisited 
tombs. 

GEORGE  EUOT 
(Middlemarch) . 

This  passage,  which  finely  expresses  an  important  truth,  is  at  the 
end  of  Middlemarch.  The  reference  is  to  a  story  of  Herodotus.  He  says 
that  Cyrus,  the  Persian,  was  angry  with  the  river  Gyndes  (Diyalah),  because 
it  had  drowned  one  of  the  white  horses,  which,  as  being  sacred  to  the  sun, 
accompanied  the  expedition.  He,  therefore,  employed  his  army  to  divert 
the  river  into  360  channels  (representing  the  number  of  days  in  the  year). 
The  story  was  probably  told  to  Herodotus  as  explaining  the  great  irrigation 
system  that  existed  in  Mesopotamia.  The  Diyalah  flows  into  the  Tigris 
not  far  from  Baghdad. 


ANY  sort  of  meaning  looks  intense 

When  all  beside  itself  means  and  looks  nought. 

R.  BROWNING 
(Fra  Lippo  Uppi). 


HOLD,  Time,  a  little  while  thy  glass, 

And,  Youth,  fold  up  those  peacock  wings  ! 

More  rapture  fills  the  j^ears  that  pass 
Than  any  hope  the  future  brings  ; 

Some  for  to-morrow  rashly  pray, 

And  some  desire  to  hold  to-day. 

But  I  am  sick  for  yesterday.  . 

Ah  !  who  will  give  us  back  the  past  ? 

Ah  !  woe,  that  youth  should  love  to  be 
Like  this  swift  Thames  that  speeds  so  fast, 

And  is  so  fain  to  find  the  sea, — 
That  leaves  this  maze  of  shadow  and  sleep, 
These  creeks  down  which  blown  blossoms  creep, 
For  breakers  of  the  homeless  deep. 

EDMUND  GOSSE 
(Desiderium). 


334  BOURDIIvLON— PUNY 

THE  night  has  a  thousand  eyes, 

And  the  day  but  one  ; 
Yet  the  light  of  the  bright  world  dies 

With  the  dying  sun. 

The  mind  has  a  thousand  eyes, 

And  the  heart  but  one  ; 
Yet  the  light  of  a  whole  life  dies, 
When  love  is  done. 

F.  W.  BOURDUAON. 
See  reference  to  this  poem  in  Preface. 


BUT  to  come  again  unto  Apelles,  this  was  his  manner  and  custom 
besides,  which  he  perpetually  observed,  that  no  day  went  over  his 
head,  but  what  businesse  soever  he  had  otherwise  to  call  him  away, 
he  would  make  one  draught  or  other  (and  never  misse)  for  to 
exercise  his  hand  and  keepe  it  in  use,  inasmuch  as  from  him 
grew  the  proverbe,  Nulla  dies  sine  linea,  i.e.  Be  alwaies  doing 
somewhat,  though  you  doe  but  draw  a  line.  His  order  was  when  he 
had  finished  a  piece  of  work  or  painted  table,  and  layd  it  out  of  his 
hand,  to  set  it  forth  in  some  open  gallerie  or  thorowfare,  to  be 
seen  of  folke  that  passed  by,  and  himselfe  would  lie  close  behind 
it  to  hearken  what  faults  were  found  therewith  ;  preferring  the 
judgment  of  the  common  people  before  his  owne,  and  imagining 
they  would  spy  more  narrowly,  and  censure  his  doings  sooner 
than  himselfe  :  and  as  the  tale  is  told,  it  fell  out  upon  a  time, 
that  a  shoemaker  as  he  went  by  seemed  to  controlle  his  workman- 
ship about  the  shoo  or  pantofle  that  he  had  made  to  a  picture, 
and  namely,  that  there  was  one  latchet  fewer  than  there  should 
be  :  Apelles  acknowledging  that  the  man  said  true  indeed, 
mended  that  fault  by  the  next  morning,  and  set  forth  his  table 
as  his  manner  was.  The  same  shoemaker  comming  again 
the  morrow  after,  and  finding  the  want  supplied  which  he  noted 
the  day  before,  took  some  pride  unto  himselfe,  that  his  former 
admonition  had  sped  so  well,  and  was  so  bold  as  to  cavil  at  some- 
what about  the  leg.  Apelles  could  not  endure  that,  but  putting 
forth  his  head  from  behind  the  painted  table,  and  scorning  thus 
to  be  checked  and  reproved,  Sirrha  (quoth  hee)  remember  you 
are  but  a  shoemaker ,  and  therefore  meddle  no  higher  I  advise  you, 
than  with  shoos.  Which  words  also  of  his  came  afterwards 
to  be  a  common  proverbe,  Ne  sutor  ultra  crepidam. 

PI.INY 
(Natural  History). 


JONSON  AND  OTHERS  3.35 

Apelles,  the  greatest  painter  of  antiquity.  The  two  proverbs  mean : 
"  No  day  without  a  line,"  "  A  cobbler  should  stick  to  his  last."  Pantofle, 
sandal ;  latchet,  the  thong  fastening  the  sandal  ;  painted  table,  panel  picture ; 
controlle^  find  fault  with. 


HAVE  you  seen  but  a  bright  lily  grow, 
Before  rude  hands  have  touched  it  ? 
Have  you  marked  but  the  fall  of  the  snow, 

Before  the  soil  hath  smutched  it  ? 
Have  you  felt  the  wool  of  the  beaver  ? 

Or  swan's  down  ever  ? 
Or  have  smelt  o'  the  bud  of  the  briar, 

Or  the  nard  in  the  fire  ? 
Or  have  tasted  the  bag  of  the  bee  ? 
O,  so  white  !     O,  so  soft !     O,  so  sweet  is  she  ! 

BEN  JONSON 
(A  Celebration  of  Charts). 


IMPERFECTION  is  in  some  sort  essential  to  all  that  we  know  of 
life.  It  is  the  sign  of  life  in  a  mortal  body,  that  is  to  say,  of  a  state 
of  progress  and  change.  Nothing  that  lives  is,  or  can  be,  rigidly 
perfect ;  part  of  it  is  decaying,  part  nascent.  The  foxglove 
blossom — a  third  part  bud,  a  third  part  past,  a  third  part  in 
full  bloom — is  a  type  of  the  life  of  this  world.  And  in  all  things 
that  live  there  are  certain  irregularities  and  deficiencies  which  are 
not  only  signs  of  life,  but  sources  of  beauty.  No  human  face 
is  exactly  the  same  in  its  lines  on  each  side,  no  leaf  perfect  in  its 
lobes,  no  branch  in  its  symmetry.  All  admit  irregularity  as  they 
imply  change  ;  and  to  banish  imperfection  is  to  destroy  expression, 
to  check  exertion,  to  paralyze  vitality.  All  things  are  literally 
better,  lovelier,  and  more  beloved  for  the  imperfections  which 
have  been  divinely  appointed,  that  the  law  of  human  life  may  be 
Effort,  and  the  law  of  human  judgment,  Mercy. 

JOHN  RUSKIN 
(Stones  of  Venice  II,  vi,  25). 


THE  best  of  us  are  but  poor  wretches  just  saved  from  ship- 
wreck :  can  we  feel  anything  but  awe  and  pity  when  we  see  a 
fellow-passenger  swallowed  by  the  waves  ? 

GEORGE  EWOT 
(Janet's  Repentance). 


336  SHAKESPEARE  AND  OTHERS 

THE  barge  she  sat  in,  like  a  bumished  throne, 
Burn'd  on  the  water  :  the  poop  was  beaten  gold  ; 
Purple  the  sails,  and  so  perfumed  that 
The  winds  were  love-sick  with  them  ;  the  oars  were  silver, 
Which  to  the  tune  of  flutes  kept  stroke.     She  did  lie 
In  her  pavilion  :  on  each  side  her 
Stood  pretty  dimpled  boys,  like  smiling  Cupids, 

With  divers-coloured  fans 

Her  gentlewomen,  like  the  Nereides, 
So  many  mermaids  tended  her.     At  the  helm 
A  seeming  mermaid  steers  :  the  silken  tackle 
Swell  with  the  touches  of  those  flower-soft  hands. 

SHAKESPEARE 

(Antony  and  Cleopatra). 

This  and  the  next  three  quotations  are  word-pictures  (see  p.  85). 


LITTLE  round  Pepita,  blondest  maid 
In  all  Bedmar — Pepita,  fair  yet  flecked, 
Saucy  of  lip  and  nose,  of  hair  as  red 
As  breasts  of  robins  stepping  on  the  snow — 
Who  stands  in  front  with  little  tapping  feet, 
And  baby-dimpled  hands  that  hide  enclosed 
Those  sleeping  crickets,  the  dark  castanets. 

GEORGE  Euox 
(The  Spanish  Gypsy}. 


AND  how  then  was  the  Devil  drest  ? 

Oh  !  he  was  in  his  Sunday's  best : 

His  jacket  was  red  and  his  breeches  were  blue, 

And  there  was  a  hole  where  the  tail  came  through. 

Over  the  hill  and  over  the  dale, 

And  he  went  over  the  plain, 

And  backward  and  forward  he  swished  his  long  tail, 

As  a  gentleman  swishes  his  cane. 


The  stanzas  are  reversed  in  order. 


S.  T.  COLERIDGE 
(The  Devil's  Thoughts}. 


SCOTT— CORCORAN  337 

WE  walked  abreast  all  up  the  street, 

Into  the  market  up  the  street ; 
Our  hair  with  marigolds  was  wound, 
Our  bodices  with  love-knots  laced, 
Our  merchandise  with  tansy*  bound.  .  .  . 


And  when  our  chaffering  all  was  done, 

All  was  paid  for,  sold  and  done, 
We  drew  a  glove  on  ilka  hand, 
We  sweetly  curtsied,  each  to  each, 
And  deftly  danced  a  saraband. 

WIUJAM  BEI<I,  SCOTT 
(The  Witch's  Ballad). 
The  above  are  from  a  series  of  word-pictures  (see  p.  85). 


ON    THE    NONPAREIL 

Naught  but  himself  can  be  his  parallel. 

WITH  marble-coloured  shoulders — and  keen  eyes 
Protected  by  a  forehead  broad  and  white — 
And  hair  cut  close,  lest  it  impede  the  sight, 

And  clenched  hands,  firm  and  of  a  punishing  size, 

Steadily  held,  or  motioned  wary -wise 

To  hit  or  stop — and  kerchief,  too,  drawn  tight 
O'er  the  unyielding  loins,  to  keep  from  flight 

The  inconstant  wind,  that  all  too  often  flies — 

The  Nonpareil  stands  !     Fame,  whose  bright  eyes  run 

o'er 

With  joy  to  see  a  Chicken  of  her  own, 
Dips  her  rich  pen  in  claret,  and  writes  down 

Under  the  letter  R,  first  on  the  score, 

"  Randall — John — Irish  Parents — age  not  known — 

Good  with  both  hands,  and  only  ten  stone  four  !  " 

PETER  CORCORAN 
(The  Fancy,  1820). 
Randall  was  a  pugilist  of  the  time. 

"  None  but  himself  can  be  his  parallel  "  is  a  line  from  The  Double 
Falsehood  of  Louis  Theobald  (1691-1744),  but  it  comes  originally  from 
Seneca  (Hercules  Furens,  Act  i,  Sc.  i) : 

*  An  aromatic  herb  with  yellow  flowers. 


338  HUGO— HUNTER 

Quaeris  Alcidae  parem  ? 
Nemo  est  nisi  ipse. 
(Do  you  seek  the  equal  of  Alcides  ? 
No  one  is  except  himself.) 

I  copied  the  above  sonnet  from  Gossip  in  a  Library  by  Edmund  Gossc 
(1891),  partly  because  Mr.  Gosse  said  of  it,  "  Anthologies  are  not  edited  in 
a  truly  catholic  spirit,  or  they  would  contain  this  very  remarkable  sonnet." 
I  hardly  think  this,  but  the  lines  seem  sufficiently  interesting  to  quote. 

LE  roi  disait,  en  la  voyant  si  belle, 

A  son  neveu  : 
"  Pour  un  baiser,  pour  un  sourire  d'elle, 

Pour  un  cheveu, 
Infant  Don  Ruy,  je  donnerais  1'Espagne 

Et  le  Perou  !  " 
Le  vent  qui  vient  a  travers  la  montagne 

Me  rendra  fott. 

(The  King,  seeing  her  so  beautiful,  said  to  his  nephew,  "  For  one  kiss, 
for  a  smile,  for  one  hair  of  her  head,  Infante  Don  Ruy,  I  would  give  Spain 
and  Peru."  The  wind  that  blows  over  the  mountain  will  drive  me  mad,} 

VICTOR  HUGO, 

(Gastibelza.) 

This  charmingly  extravagant  praise  of  a  lady's  beauty  recalls  the 
story  of  another  poet.  The  Eastern  conqueror,  Timur  (or  Tamerlane), 
sent  for  the  Persian  poet  Hafiz  and  very  angrily  asked  him,  "  Art  thou 
he  who  offered  to  give  my  two  great  cities,  Samarkand  and  Bokhara, 
for  the  black  mole  on  thy  mistress's  cheek  ?  "  Hafiz,  however,  cleverly 
escaped  trouble  by  replying,  "  Yes,  sire,  I  always  give  freely,  and  in  conse- 
quence am  now  reduced  to  poverty.  May  I  crave  your  kind  assistance  !  " 
Timur  was  amused  at  the  reply  and  made  the  poet' a  present.  The  story, 
however,  is  considered  doubtful,  because  Timur  did  not  conquer  Persia 
until  some  years  after  1388,  which  is  supposed  to  be  the  date  of  the  poet's 
death. 


MERE  verbal  insults  (to  a  Roman  Emperor)  were  not  considered 
treason  ;  for,  said  the  Emperors  Theodosius,  Arcadius  and  Hono- 
rius,  in  language  that  is  a  standing  rebuke  to  pusillanimous 
tyrants,  if  the  words  are  uttered  in  a  spirit  of  frivolity,  the  attack 
merits  contempt ;  if  from  madness,  they  excite  pity  ;  if  from 
malice,  they  are  to  be  forgiven. 

WH&IAM  A.  HUNTER  (1844- 1 898) 
(Roman  Law,  Appendix). 

This  recalls  to  mind  the  numerous  cases  of  lese-majeste  for  words 
spoken  against  the  Kaiser  before  the  war.  The  passage  would  make  a 
pleasant  retort  to  a  rude  opponent  (a  "  pusillanimous  tyrant  ")  in  a  debate. 


JONSON— DU    I,ORENS  339 

I  HAVE  discovered  that  a  feigned  familiarity  in  great  ones, 
is  a  note  of  certain  usurpation  on  the  less.  For  great  and  popular 
men  feign  themselves  to  be  servants  of  others,  to  make  these 
slaves  to  them.  So  the  fisher  provides  bait  for  the  trout,  roach, 
dace,  etc.,  that  they  may  be  food  for  hhu. 

BEN  JONSON 
(Mores   Aulicf]. 


CI-GIT  ma  femme,  ah  !  qu'elle  est  bien, 
Pour  son  repos — et  pour  le  mien. 

Du  LORENS. 

Paraphrased  as  : — 

Here  Abigail  my  wife  doth  lie ; 
She's  at  peace  and  so  am  I. 


GLADSTONE  AND  THE  SOCIETY  FOR 
PSYCHICAL  RESEARCH. 


MR.  GLADSTONE'S  relation  to  Psychical  Research  affords  one 
more  illustration  of  the  width  and  force  of  his  intellectual  sympa- 
thies. Many  men,  even  of  high  ability,  if  convinced  as  Mr.  Gladstone 
was  of  the  truth  and  sufficiency  of  the  Christian  revelation, 
permit  themselves  to  ignore  these  experimental  approaches  to 
spiritual  knowledge,  as  at  best  superfluous.  They  do  not  realize 
how  profoundly  the  evidence,  the  knowledge,  which  we  seek 
and  which  in  some  measure  we  find,  must  ultimately  influence 
men's  views  as  to  both  the  credibility  and  the  adequacy  of  all 
forms  of  faith.  Mr.  Gladstone's  broad  intellectual  purview, — 
aided  perhaps  in  this  instance  by  something  of  the  practical  fore- 
sight of  the  statesman, — placed  him  in  a  quite  different  attitude 
towards  our  quest.  "It  is  the  most  important  work  which  is 
being  done  in  the  world,"  he  said  in  a  conversation  in  1885. 
"  By  far  the  most  important,"  he  repeated,  with  a  grave  emphasis 
which  suggested  previous  trains  of  thought,  to  which  he  did  not 
care  to  give  expression.  He  went  on  to  apologize,  in  his  courteous 
fashion,  for  his  inability  to  render  active  help  ;  and  ended  by  saying 
"  If  you  will  accept  sympathy  without  service,  I  shall  be  glad 
to  join  your  ranks."  He  became  an  Honorary  Member,  and 
followed  with  attention, — I  know  not  with  how  much  of  study — 


340  MYERS— WORDSWORTH 

the  successive  issues  of  our  Proceedings.  Towards  the  close  of  his 
life  he  desired  that  the  Proceedings  should  be  sent  to  St.  Deiniol's 
Library,  which  he  had  founded  at  Hawarden ;  thus  giving 
final  testimony  to  his  sense  of  the  salutary  nature  of  our  work. 
From  a  man  so  immersed  in  other  thought  and  labour  that  work 
could  assuredly  claim  no  more ;  from  men  profoundly  and 
primarily  interested  in  the  spiritual  world  it  ought,  I  think,  to 
claim  no  less. 

F.  W.  H.  MYERS 

(S.P.R.  Journal,  June,  1898). 


Apart  from  this  interesting  glimpse  of  Gladstone,  it  shows  the  impor- 
tance he  attached  to  the  work  of  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research.  To  the 
severely  orthodox,  who  think  no  evidence  of  life  after  death  should  be 
sought  outside  "  Revelation,"  his  opinion  should  appeal.  Every  increase 
of  knowledge  is  a  further  "  Revelation."  In  the  Bible  we  are  told  of  one 
resurrection,  and  there  is  certainly  no  reason  why  we  should  not  seek  the 
evidence  of  others.  We  should  not  shut  our  eyes  and  close  our  ears  to  new 
Revelation. 

The  Society  has  been  thirty-ei<rht  years  in  existence  and  is  still  in- 
sufficiently appreciated.  Hodgson  said  in  The  Forum,  1896  "  There  are 
so  many  ways  of  looking  at  the  world.  It  may  be  a  speck  in  space,  or  a 
huge  cauldron  with  a  graveyard  for  its  crust,  a  place  in  which  to  get  a 
hunger  and  satisfy  it,  the  fighting  ground  for  a  while  of  dragon  or  ape,  of 
Trojan  or  Turk,  an  evolutionary  drama  that  must  end  in  ice  or  fire.  Many 
things  it  means  to  different  men.  One  is  busy  with  earthworms,  another 
with  stars,  another  with  the  splendour  of  the  day  or  the  strivings  of  the 
human  soul.  Numerous  investigators  are  hunting  for  further  proofs 
that  we  came  out  of  the  mud,  but  very  few  are  seeking  indications,  in  any 
scientific  spirit,  of  what  may  follow  the  toil  and  turmoil  of  our  individual 
existence  here." 

Myers  says  :  "  The  question  of  the  survival  of  man  is  a  branch  of 
experimental  psychology.  Is  there,  or  is  there  not,  evidence  in  the  actual 
observed  phenomena  of  automatism,  apparitions  and  the  like,  for  a  trans- 
cendental energy  in  living  men,  or  for  an  influence  emanating  from  per- 
sonalities which  have  overpassed  the  tomb  ?  This  is  the  definite  question, 
which  we  can  at  least  intelligibly  discuss,  and  which  either  we  or  our  descen- 
dants may  some  day  hope  to  answer." 


LIKE  clouds  that  rake  the  mountain-summits, 
Or  waves  that  own  no  curbing  hand, 
How  fast  has  brother  followed  brother, 
From  sunshine  to  the  sunless  land  ! 

WORDSWORTH 

(On  the  Death  of  James  Hogg] . 


MOL1ERE -SWINBURNE  341 

CAR,  voyez-vous,  la  femme  est,  comme  on  dit,  mon  niaitre, 
Un  certain  animal  difficile  a  conn.oit.re, 
Et  de  qui  la  nature  est  fort  encline  au  mal. 

(A  woman,  look  you,  is  a  certain  animal  hard  to  understand  and 
much  inclined  to  mischief.) 

MOUERE 

(Le  De-pit  Amoureitx.} 


HERE,  where  sharp  the  sea-bird  shrills  his  ditty, 
Flickering  flame-wise  through  the  clear  live  calm, 

Rose  triumphal,  crowning  all  a  city, 

Roofs  exalted  once  with  prayer  and  psalm, 

Built  of  hol)r  hands  for  holy  pity, 

Frank  and  fruitful  as  a  sheltering  palm. 


Church  and  hospice  wrought  in  faultless  fashion, 
Hall  and  chancel  bounteous  and  sublime, 

Wide  and  sweet  and  glorious  as  compassion, 
Filled  and  thrilled  with  force  of  choral  chime, 

Filled  with  spirit  of  prayer  and  thrilled  with  passion, 
Hailed  a  God  more  merciful  than  Time. 


Ah,  less  mighty,  less  than  Time  prevailing, 
Shrunk,  expelled,  made  nothing  at  his  nod, 

Less  than  clouds  across  the  sea-line  sailing 
Lies  he,  stricken  by  his  master's  rod. 

"  Where  is  man  ?  "  the  cloister  murmurs  wailing  ; 
Back  the  mute  shrine  thunders — "  Where  is  God  ? 


Here  is  all  the  end  of  all  his  glory — 

Dust,  and  grass,  and  barren  silent  stones. 

Dead,  like  him,  one  hollow  tower  and  hoary 
Naked  in  the  sea-wind  stands  and  moans, 

Filled  and  thrilled  with  its  perpetual  story  : 

Here,  where  earth  is  dense  with  dead  men's  bones. 


Low  and  loud  and  long,  a  voice  for  ever, 
Sounds  the  wind's  clear  story  like  a  song. 

Tomb  from  tomb  the  waves  devouring  sever, 
Dust  from  dust  as  years  relapse  along  ; 

Graves  where  men  made  sure  to  rest  and  never 
I/ie  dismantled  by  the  seasons'  wrong. 


342  SWINBURNE 

Now  displaced,  devoured  and  desecrated, 
Now  by  Time's  hands  darkly  disinterred, 

These  poor  dead  that  sleeping  here  awaited 
Long  the  archangel's  re-creating  word, 

Closed  about  with  roofs  and  walls  high- gated 
Till  the  blast  of  judgment  should  be  heard, 

Naked,  shamed,  cast  out  of  consecration, 
Corpse  and  coffin,  yea  the  very  graves, 

Scoffed  at,  scattered,  shaken  from  their  station, 
Spurned  and  scourged  of  wind  and  sea  like  slaves, 

Desolate  beyond  man's  desolation, 

Shrink  and  sink  into  the  waste  of  waves. 


Tombs,  with  bare  white  piteous  bones  protruded, 
Shroudless,  down  the  loose  collapsing  banks, 

Crumble,  from  their  constant  place  detruded, 
That  the  sea  devours  and  gives  not  thanks. 

Graves  where  hope  and  prayer  and  sorrow  brooded 
Gape  and  slide  and  perish,  ranks  on  ranks. 

Rows  on  rows  and  line  by  line  they  crumble, 
They  that  thought  for  all  time  through  to  be. 

Scarce  a  stone  whereon  a  child  might  stumble 
Breaks  the  grim  field  paced  alone  of  me. 

Earth,  and  man,  and  all  their  gods  wax  humble 
Here,  where  Time  brings  pasture  to  the  sea. 


But  afar  011  the  headland  exalted, 

But  beyond  in  the  curl  of  the  bay, 
From  the  depth  of  his  dome  deep-vaulted 

Our  father  is  lord  of  the  day. 
Our  father  and  lord  that  we  follow. 

For  deathless  and  ageless  is  he  : 
And  his  robe  is  the  whole  sky's  hollow, 

His  sandal  the  sea. 

Where  the  horn  of  the  headland  is  sharper, 

And  her  green  floor  glitters  with  fire, 
The  sea  has  the  sun  for  a  harper, 

The  sun  has  the  sea  for  a  lyre. 
The  waves  are  a  pavement  of  amber, 

By  the  feel  of  the  sea-winds  trod 
To  receive  in  a  god's  presence-chamber 

Our  father,  the  God. 


SWINBURNE— COLERIDGE  343 

Time,  haggard  and  changeful  and  hoary, 

Is  master  and  god  of  the  land  : 
But  the  air  is  fulfilled  of  the  glory 

That  is  shed  from  our  lord's  right  hand. 
O  father  of  all  of  us  ever, 

All  glory  be  only  to  thee 
From  heaven,  that  is  void  of  thee  never, 

And  earth,  and  the  sea.  .  . 

SWINBURNE 
(By  the  North  Sea). 

Swinburne  introduced  the  new  Hellenism  or  paganism,  which  was  followed 
by  Pater  and  J.  A.  Symonds  and  ended  with  Oscar  Wilde  (see  p.  310  note.) 
Here  Time  is  the  supreme  god  who  wrecks  Christian  Churches,  etc. 

Although  Swinburne  had  no  important  message  to  deliver,  yet  by  his 
wonderful  mastery  of  metre  and  language  he  was  of  tremendous  service  in 
transforming  English  Poetry  (see  p.  219.)  But  in  spite  of  the  magical 
effect  of  his  new  melodies,  he  was  wanting  in  the  art  (of  which  Milton 
is  the  supreme  example)  of  varying  his  rhythm  and  accents.  His  extreme 
regularity,  notwithstanding  the  fine  language  and  the  splendid  swing  of  his 
verses,  produces  in  his  longer  poems  a  certain  effect  of  monotony.  Swin- 
burne spoke  of  the  "  spavined  and  spur-galled  Pegasus  "  of  George  Eliot, 
but  although  she  lacked  his  wonderful  lyric  melody,  she  was  more  artistic 
and  effective  than  he  in  varying  the  rhythm  of  her  verse.  However,  the 
immense  influence  of  Swinburne  on  all  subsequent  poetry  can  never  be 
forgotten.  Even  the  dreary  Iambic  couplet  in  his  hands  was  transformed 
into  music. 


THERE  is  the  love  of  the  good  for  the  good's  sake,  and  the  love 
of  the  truth  for  the  truth's  sake.  I  have  known  many,  especially 
women,  love  the  good  for  the  good's  sake ;  but  very  few,  indeed — 
and  scarcely  one  woman — love  the  truth  for  the  truth's  sake. 
Yet  without  the  latter,  the  f ormer  may  become,  as  it  has  a  thousand 
times  been,  the  source  of  the  persecution  of  the  truth — the  pre- 
text and  motive  of  inquisitorial  cruelty  and  party  zealotry.  To 
see  clearly  that  the  love  of  the  good  and  the  true  is  ultimately 
identical  is  given  only  to  those  who  love  both  sincerely  and 
without  any  foreign  ends. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE 
(Table  Talk). 


THE  old  creeds  grew  out  of  human  nature  as  genuinely  as 
weeds  and  flowers  out  of  the  earth.  It  is  well  enough  that  the 
gardener,  whose  business  it  is  to  pull  them  up,  should  despise 
them  as  pigweed,  wormwood,  chickweed,  shadblossom  :  so  they 


344  CONWAY— COJwENSO 

are,  out  of  their  place  ;  but  the  botanist  picks  up  the  same  and 
recognizes  them  as  Ambrosia,  Stellaria,  Amelanchier,  Amaranth. 
Natura  nihil  agit  frustra.  I^et  us  coax  each  to  yield  its  last  bud. 

MONCURE  D.  CONWAY. 

I  have  not  Conway's  book  An  Earthward  Pilgrimage  to  refer  to.  The 
latter  part  of  the  above  is  apparently  a  quotation  from  Thoreau,  as  I  remem- 
ber it  is  so  quoted  by  Emerson. 


GOD  is  my  witness,  what  hours  of  wretchedness  I  have  spent 
at  times,  while  reading  the  Bible  devoutly  from  day  to  day, 
and  reverencing  every  word  of  it  as  the  Word  of  God ,  when  petty 
contradictions  met  me  which  seemed  to  my  reason  to  conflict 
with  the  notion  of  the  absolute  historical  veracity  of  every  part 
of  Scripture,  and  which,  as  I  felt,  in  the  study  of  any  other  book 
we  should  honestly  treat  as  errors  or  mis-statements,  without  in 
the  least  detracting  from  the  real  value  of  the  book  !  But  in  those 
days,  I  was  taught  that  it  was  my  duty  to  fling  the  suggestion 
from  me  at.  once,  "  as  if  it  were  a  loaded  shell  shot  into  the  fortress 
of  my  soul,"  or  to  stamp  out  desperately,  as  with  an  iron  heel, 
each  spark  of  honest  doubt,  which  God's  own  gift,  the  love  of 
truth,  had  kindled  in  my  bosom  ...  I  thank  God  that  I  was  not 
able  long  to  throw  dust  in  the  eyes  of  my  own  mind,  and  do 
violence  to  the  love  of  truth  in  this  way. 

BISHOP  COI,ENSO   (1814-1883) 
(Pentateuch) . 

(See  G.  W.  Cox's  Life  of  Colenso,  7,  493.)  Colenso's  quotation,  "  as 
if  it  were  a  loaded  shell,"  etc.,  is  from  Bishop  Wilberforce.  Cox  mentions 
elsewhere  that  in  one  of  Wilberforce's  published  sermons  he  speaks  of  a 
young  man  of  great  promise  dying  in  darkness  and  despair,  because  he  had 
indulged  in  doubt  as  to  whether  the  sun  and  moon  stood  still  at  Joshua's 
bidding  !  Who,  that  went  through  the  experiences  of  those  days,  can  ever 
forget  them  ?  We  had  been  taught  that  we  "  must  believe  "  every  word 
of  the  Bible  to  be  divinely  inspired  or  else  be  eternally  damned.  And  yet 
we  realized  that  such  belief  was  absolutely  impossible  ! 

The  horror  with  which  Bishop  Colenso's  revelations  were  received  in 
orthodox  circles  would  to-day  be  scarcely  credible,  and  not  until  after 
the  eighties  were  the  results  of  the  Higher  Criticism  generally  accepted. 


I/KT  a  man  be  once  fully  persuaded  that  there  is  no  difference 
between  the  two  positions,  "  The  Bible  contains  the  religion 
revealed  by  God,"  and  "  Whatever  is  contained  in  the  Bible 
is  religion,  and  was  revealed  by  God"  ;  and  that  whatever  can 
be  said  of  the  Bible,  collectively  taken,  may  and  must  be  said 


COLERIDGE  AND  OTHERS  345 

of  each  and  every  sentence  of  the  Bible,  taken  for  and  by  itself, — 
and  I  no  longer  wonder  at  these  paradoxes.  I  only  object  to  the 
inconsistency  of  those  who  profess  the  same  belief,  and  yet  affect 
to  look  down  with  a  contemptuous  or  compassionate  smile  on  John 
Wesley  for  rejecting  the  Copernican  system  as  incompatible 
therewith  ;  or  who  exclaim,  "  Wonderful !  "  when  they  hear 
that  Sir  Matthew  Hale  sent  a  crazy  old  woman  to  the  gallows 
in  honour  of  the  Witch  of  Endor.  ...  I  challenge  these  divines 
and  their  adherents  to  establish  the  compatibility  of  a  belief 
in  the  modern  astronomy  and  natural  philosophy  with  their 
and  Wesley's  doctrine  respecting  the  inspired  Scriptures. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 


FOR  the  Parsons  are  dumb  dogs,  turning  round, 
And  scratching  their  hole  in  the  warmest  ground, 
And  laying  them  down  in  the  sun  to  wink, 
Drowsing,  and  dreaming,  and  thinking  they  think. 
As  they  mumble  the  marrowless  bones  of  morals, 
Like  toothless  children  gnawing  their  corals, 
Gnawing  their  corals  to  soothe  their  gums 
With  a  kind  of  watery  thought  that  comes. 

W.  C.  SMITH 
(Borland  Hall). 


WHY  do  we  respect  some  vegetables,  and  despise  others  ? 
The  bean  is  a  graceful,  confiding,  engaging  vine  ;  but  you  never 
can  put  beans  in  poetry,  nor  into  the  highest  sort  of  prose.  Corn — 
— which,  in  my  garden,  grows  alongside  the  bean,  and,  so  far 
as  I  can  see,  with  no  affectation  of  superiority — is,  however,  the 
child  of  song.  It  "  waves  "  in  all  literature. 

CHARGES  DUDLEY  WARNER 
(My  Summer  in  a  Garden). 

Mr.  Yeats  has,  however,  rescued  the  bean  from  its  invidious  position 
(The  Lake  Isle  of  Innisfree)  :— 

I  will  arise  and  go  now,  and  go  to  Innisfree, 
And  a  small  cabin  build  there,  of  clay  and  wattles  made  ; 
Nine  bean  rows  will  I  have  there,  a  hive  for  the  honey  bee, 
And  live  alone  in  the  bee-loud  glade. 

Lady  Middleton,  a  friend  of  old  days  in  Adelaide  and  now  in  England, 
reminded  me  of  these  lines. 


346  MYERS 

YET  in  my  hid  soul  must  a  voice  reply 

Which  knows  not  which  may  seem  the  viler  gain. 
To  sleep  for  ever  or  be  born  again, 

The  blank  repose  or  drear  eternity. 

A  solitary  thing  it  were  to  die 
So  late  begotten  and  so  early  slain, 
With  sweet  life  withered  to  a  passing  pain. 

Till  nothing  anywhere  should  still  be  I. 
Yet  if  for  evermore  I  must  convey 
These  weary  senses  thro'  an  endless  day 

And  gaze  on  God  with  these  exhausted  eyes, 
I  fear  that  howsoe'er  the  seraphs  play 
My  life  shall  not  be  theirs  nor  I  as  they, 

But  homeless  in  the  heart  of  Paradise. 

F.  W.  H.  MYERS  (1843-1901) 
(Immortality) . 


This  is  from  Myers'  Poems,  1870,  and  is  one  of  a  pair  of  sonnets.     I  do 
not  quote  the  first  in  full  because  its  meaning  seems  obscure,  but  the  last 
six  lines  on  the  shortness  of  life  as  compared  with  eternity  are  as  follow  : 
Lo,  all  that  age  is  as  a  speck  of  sand 

Lost  on  the  long  beach  where  the  tides  are  free, 
And  no  man  metes  it  in  his  hollow  hand 

Nor  cares  to  ponder  it,  how  small  it  be  ; 
At  ebb  it  lies  forgotten  on  the  land 
And  at  full  tide  forgotten  in  the  sea. 

In  the  second  sonnet  quoted  above,  Myers  is  not  merely  referring  to 
the  Biblical  account  of  the  future  life  in  heaven  as  consisting  in  endless 
worship — which,  if  taken  literally  instead  of  symbolically,  would  certainly 
mean  a  "  drear  eternity."  The  suggestion  is  that  there  must  be  some 
equivalent  to  work,  thought,  activity,  progress,  and  definite  aims  to  make 
eternal  life  preferable  to  annihilation.  (I  am  reminded  here  of  a  curious 
statement  made  by  the  great  Adam  Smith,  "  What  can  be  added  to  the 
happiness  of  the  man  who  is  in  health,  who  is  out  of  debt,  and  has  a  clear 
conscience !  ")  Myers  ultimately  came  to  the  definite  conclusion  that  the 
future  life  will  be  one  of  continued  progress. 

His  name,  Myers,  is  purely  English,  not  Jewish.  This  gifted  man  was 
not  only  a  fine  poet,  but  also  an  important  essayist  and  a  remarkable  classical 
scholar.  He,  Hodgson,  and  others  formed  the  small  band  of  able  men  who 
threw  everything  else  aside  and  devoted  their  lives  to  Psychical  Research. 
Myers'  best  poems  appeared  in  The  Reneiual  of  Youth  and  other  Poems, 
1882,  and  it  was  no  doubt  a  loss  to  poetry  that  during  the  remaining  eighteen 
years  of  his  life  he  added  little,  if  anything,  more.  However,  he  and  Hodg- 
son considered  that  the  work  to  which  they  had  devoted  themselves  was  of 
the  very  highest  importance.  Human  Personality  and  its  Survival  of 
Bodily  Death,  the  important  work  in  which  Myers  embodied  his  conclusions, 
was  left  incomplete  at  his  death,  but  Hodgson,  with  Miss  Alice  Johnson's 
assistance,  completed  and  edited  it. 


ALEX.  SMITH— SWINBURNE  347 

Myers  was  quite  satisfied  before  his  death,  in  1901,  that  the  evidence 
collected  by  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research  had  already  established  in 
itself  the  fact  of  survival  after  death.  But  the  interesting  fact  is  that 
during  the  nineteen  years  since  he  "  passed  over  to  the  other  side"  he  has 
apparently  been  the  principal  agent  in  adding  greatly  to  that  evidence. 
There  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  Myers  has  personally  been  communi- 
cating and  arranging  and  directing  much  of  the  evidence  that  has  since 
been  given. 


IT  is  not  the  essayist's  duty  to  inform,  to  build  pathways 
through  metaphysical  morasses,  to  cancel  abuses,  any  more  than 
it  is  the  duty  of  the  poet  to  do  these  things.  Incidentally  he  may 
do  something  in  that  way,  just  as  the  poet  may,  but  it  is  not  his 
duty,  and  should  not  be  expected  of  him.  Skylarks  are  primarily 
created  to  sing,  although  a  whole  choir  of  them  may  be  baked 
in  pies  and  brought  to  table  ;  they  were  born  to  make  music, 
although  they  may  incidentally  stay  the  pangs  of  vulgar  hunger 

The  essay  should  be  pure  literature  as  the  poem  is  pure 

literature. 

ALEXANDER  SMITH 

(On  the  Writing  of  Essays). 


TIME  takes  them  home  that  we  loved,  fair  names  and  famous 
To  the  soft  long  sleep,  to  the  broad  sweet  bosom  of  death  ; 

But  the  flower  of  their  souls  he  shall  not  take  away  to  shame  us, 
Nor  the  lips  lack  song  for  ever  that  now  lack  breath  ; 

For  with  us  shall  the  music  and  perfume  that  die  not  dwell, 

Though  the  dead  to  our  dead  bid  welcome,  and  we  farewell. 

SWINBURNE 

.-• 

(In  Memory  of  Barry  Cornwall) . 


MIMNERMUS    IN    CHURCH 

YOU  promise  heavens  free  from  strife, 
Pure  truth,  and  perfect  change  of  will ; 

But  sweet,  sweet  is  this  human  life, 
So  sweet.  I  fain  would  breathe  it  still  ; 

Your  chilly  stars  I  can  forego, 

This  warm  kind  world  is  all  I  know. 


348  CORY— WADDINGTON 

You  say  there  is  no  substance  here, 

One  great  reality  above  : 
Back  from  that  void  I  shrink  in  fear, 

And  child-like  hide  myself  in  love  : 
Show  me  what  angels  feel.  Till  then, 
I  cling,  a  mere  weak  man,  to  men. 

You  bid  me  lift  my  mean  desires 
From  faltering  lips  and  fitful  veins 

To  sexless  souls,  ideal  quires, 

Unwearied  voices,  wordless  strains  : 

My  mind  with  fonder  welcome  owns 

One  dear  dead  friend's  remembered  tones. 

Forsooth  the  present  we  must  give 
To  that  which  cannot  pass  away  ; 

All  beauteous  things  for  which  we  live 
By  laws  of  time  and  space  decay. 

But  oh,  the  very  reason  why 

I  clasp  them,  is  because  they  die. 

WIUJAM  (JOHNSON)  CORY  (1823-1892). 

Mimnermus  was  a  fine  Greek  elegiac  poet — about  630-600  B.C. 


MORS    ET    VITA 

WE  know  not  yet  what  life  shall  be, 

What  shore  beyond  earth's  shore  be  set  ; 
What  grief  awaits  us,  or  what  glee, 
We  know  not  yet. 

Still,  somewhere  in  sweet  converse  met, 

Old  friends,  we  say,  beyond  death's  sea 
Shall  meet  and  greet  us,  nor  forget 

Those  days  of  yore,  those  years  when  we 

Were  loved  and  true — but  will  death  let 
Our  eyes  the  longed-for  vision  see  ? 
We  know  not  yet. 

SAMUEI,  WADDINGTON. 


The  evidence  collected  by  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research  indicates 
that  friends  do  certainly  meet.  See  the  remarkably  convincing  Ear  of 
Dionysius,  lately  published,  where  Dr.  Verrall  and  Professor  Butcher  are 
clearly  having  a  great  time  together  on  the  other  side. 


BROWNING— HOOD  349 

ART — which  I  may  style  the  love  of  loving,  rage 

Of  knowing,  seeing,  feeling  the  absolute  truth  of  things 

For  truth's  sake,  whole  and  sole, — nor  any  good,  truth 

brings 
The  knower,  seer,  feeler  beside. 

R.  BROWNING 
(Fifine  at  the  Fair). 


DE  par  le  Roy  defense  a  Dieu 
De  faire  miracle  en  ce  lieu. 

(By  order  of  the  King,  God  is  forbidden 
To  work  miracles  in  this  place.) 

ANON. 


The  teaching  of  Cornelius  Jansen  (1585-1638)  led  to  an  important 
evangelical  movement  in  the  Roman  Catholic  Church.  When,  however, 
the  Jansenists  became  subjected  to  persecution,  the  usual  result  followed 
that  numbers  of  them  became  fanatics.  The  more  corrupt  the  French 
Court  and  Society  became,  the  more  frenzied  became  this  fanaticism. 
In  1727  the  Jansenist  deacon,  Paris,  a  man  of  very  holy  life,  was  buried 
in  the  St.  Medard  churchyard,  and  shortly  afterwards  miracles  were  said 
to  take  place  at  his  tomb.  In  consequence  large  crowds  of  convulsionnaires 
assembled  there  and  very  shocking  scenes  were  enacted,  men  and  women  in 
hysterical  and  epileptic  fits  and  ecstatic  delirium,  eating  the  earth  of  the 
grave  and  inflicting  frightful  tortures  on  themselves  and  each  other.  When 
in  1732  the  Court  interposed  and  closed  the  churchyard  some  wit  wrote 
the  above  couplet  on  the  gate. 

Mr.  King  in  his  Classical  and  Foreign  Quotations  has  "  De  faire  des 
miracles,"  but  the  above  version  seems  correct  (See  Larousse.) 


AND  Christians  love  in  the  turf  to  lie, 

Not  in  watery  graves  to  be — 
Nay,  the  very  fishes  would  sooner  die 

On  the  land  than  in  the  sea. 

THOMAS  HOOD. 


THERE  are  two  things  that  fill  my  soul  with  a  holy  reverence 
and  an  ever-growing  wonder  :  the  spectacle  of  the  starry  sky, 
that  virtually  annihilates  us  as  physical  beings  ;  and  the  moral 
law  which  raises  us  to  infinite  dignity  as  intelligent  agents. 


350  KANT  AND  OTHERS 

THE  ought  expresses  a  kind  of  necessity,  a  kind  of  connection 
of  actions  with  their  grounds  or  reasons,  such  as  is  to  be  found 
nowhere  else  in  the  whole  natural  world.  For  of  the  natural 
world  our  understanding  can  know  nothing  except  what  is, 
what  has  been,  or  what  will  be.  We  cannot  say  that  anything 
in  it  ought  to  be  other  than  it  actually  was,  is,  or  will  be.  In  fact, 
so  long  as  we  are  considering  the  course  of  nature,  the  ought 
has  no  meaning  whatever.  We  can  as  little  inquire  what  ought 
to  happen  in  nature  as  we  can  inquire  what  properties  a  circle 
ought  to  have. 

IMMANUET,  KANT. 


The  first  quotation  (from  the  Kritik  of  Practical  Reason]  appears  to 
be  the  same  passage  that  is  often  rendered  in  such  words  as  these  :  "  Two 
things  fill  my  soul  with  awe — the  starry  heavens  in  the  still  night,  and 
the  sense  of  dutv  in  man." 


THE  whole  earth 

The  beauty  wore  of  promise — that  which  sets 
The  budding  rose  above  the  rose  full-blown. 

W.  WORDSWORTH 
(The  Prelude,  Bk.  XI}. 


( )  is  one  of  those  men  who  go  far  to  shake  my  faith 

in  a  future  state  of  existence  ;  I  mean,  on  account  of  the  difficulty 
of  knowing  where  to  place  him.  I  could  not  bear  to  roast  him  ; 
he  is  not  so  bad  as  that  comes  to  :  but  then,  on  the  other  hand, 
to  have  to  sit  down  with  such  a  fellow  in  the  very  lowest  pothouse 
of  heaven  is  utterly  inconsistent  with  the  belief  of  that  place  being 
a  place  of  happiness  for  me. 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE 
(Table  Talk). 


IT  isn't  raining  rain  to  me, 

It's  raining  daffodils. 
In  every  dimpled  drop  I  see 

Wild  flowers  on  the  hills. 
The  clouds  of  grey  engulf  the  day 

And  overwhelm  the  town  : 
It  isn't  raining  rain  to  me, 

It's  raining  roses  down. 

ROBERT  IXWEMAN. 


HAWTHORNE  AND  OTHERS  351 

LET  us  reflect  that  the  highest  path  is  pointed  out  by  the  pure 
Ideal  of  those,  who  look  up  to  us,  and  who,  if  we  tread  less  loftily, 
may  never  look  so  high  again. 

N.  HAWTHORNE 
(Transformation) . 


ONE  summer  evening  sitting  by  my  window  I  watched  for  the 
first  star  to  appear,  knowing  the  position  of  the  brightest  in  the 
southern  sky.  The  dusk  came  on,  grew  deeper,  but  the  star 
did  not  shine.  By  and  by,  other  stars  less  bright  appeared,  so 
that  it  could  not  be  the  sunset  which  obscured  the  expected 
one.  Finally,  I  considered  that  I  must  have  mistaken  its  position, 
when  suddenly  a  puff  of  air  blew  through  the  branch  of  a  pear 
tree  which  overhung  the  window,  a  leaf  moved,  and  there  was  the 
star  behind  the  leaf. 

At  present  the  endeavour  to  make  discoveries  is  like  gazing 
at  the  sky  up  through  the  boughs  of  an  oak.  Here  a  beautiful 
star  shines  clearly  ;  here  a  constellation  is  hidden  by  a  branch  ; 
a  universe  by  a  leaf.  Some  mental  instrument  or  organon  is 
required  to  enable  us  to  distinguish  between  the  leaf  which 
may  be  removed  and  a  real  void  ;  when  to  cease  to  look  in  one 

direction,    and   to  work  in   another There   are  infinities 

to  be  known,  but  they  are  hidden  by  a  leaf. 

RICHARD  JEFFERIES 

(The  Story  of  My  Heart). 


OVER  the  winter  glaciers 

I  see  the  summer  glow, 
And  through  the  wild-piled  snowdrift 

The  warm  rosebuds  below. 

R.  W.  EMERSON 

(The  World-Soul). 
Emerson  is  always  an  optimist. 


PLACE  thyself,  oh,  lovely  fair  ! 
Where  a  thousand  mirrors  are  ; 
Though  a  thousand  faces  shine, 
'Tia  but  one — and  that  is  thine. 


352  MOASI  AND  OTHERS 

Then  the  Painter's  skill  allow, 
Who  could  frame  so  fair  a  brow. 
What  are  lustrous  eyes  of  flame, 
What  are  cheeks,  the  rose  that  shame, 
What  are  glances  wild  and  free, 
Speech,  and  shape,  and  voice — but  He  ? 

MOASI 
(L.  S.  Costello's  translation). 


AND  here  the  Singer  for  his  Art 

Not  all  in  vain  may  plead 
'  The  song  that  nerves  a  nation's  heart 
Is  in  itself  a  deed.' 

TENNYSON 
(Charge  of  the  Heavy  Brigade). 


I  KNEW  a  very  wise  man  that  believed  that,  if  a  man  were  per- 
mitted to  make  all  the  ballads,  he  need  not  care  who  should  make 
the  laws  of  a  nation. 

FLETCHER  of  Saltoun 
{Letter  to  Montrose  and  others). 

What  would  the  wise  man  have  said  of  "  It's  a  long,  long  way  to 
Tipperary  "  ? 


FIRST    LOVE 

O  MY  earliest  love,  who,  ere  I  number 'd 
Ten  sweet  summers,  made  my  bosom  thrill ! 

Will  a  swallow — or  a  swift,  or  some  bird — 
Fly  to  her  and  say,  I  love  her  still  ? 

Say  my  life's  a  desert  drear  and  arid, 

To  its  one  green  spot  I  aye  recur  : 
Never,  never — although  three  times  married — 

Have  I  cared  a  jot  for  aught  but  her. 

No,  mine  own  !  though  early  forced  to  leave  you, 
Still  my  heart  was  there  where  first  we  met ; 

In  those  "  Lodgings  with  an  ample  sea- view," 
Which  were,  forty  years  ago,  "  To  let." 


353 


There  I  saw  her  first,  our  landlord's  oldest 
Little  daughter.     On  a  thing  so  fair 

Thou,  O  Sun,  —  who  (so  they  say)  beholdest 
Everything,  —  hast  gazed,  I  tell  thee,  ne'er. 

There  she  sat  —  so  near  me,  yet  remoter 
Than  a  star  —  a  blue-eyed  bashful  imp  : 

On  her  lap  she  held  a  happy  bloater, 

'Twixt  her  lips  a  yet  more  happy  shrimp. 

And  I  loved  her,  and  our  troth  we  plighted 
On  the  morrow  by  the  shingly  shore  : 

In  a  fortnight  to  be  disunited 
By  a  bitter  fate  for  evermore. 

O  my  own,  my  beautiful,  my  blue-eyed  ! 

To  be  young  once  more,  and  bite  my  thumb 
At  the  world  and  all  its  cares  with  you,  I'd 

Give  no  inconsiderable  sum. 

Hand  in  hand  we  tramp'd  the  golden  seaweed, 
Soon  as  o'er  the  gray  cliff  peep'd  the  dawn  : 

Side  by  side,  when  came  the  hour  for  tea,  we'd 
Crunch  the  mottled  shrimp  and  hairy  prawn  :  — 

Has  she  wedded  some  gigantic  shrimper, 

That  sweet  mite  with  whom  I  loved  to  play  ? 

Is  she  girt  with  babes  that  whine  and  whimper, 
That  bright  being  who  was  always  gay  ? 

Yes  —  she  has  at  least  a  dozen  wee  things  ! 

Yes  —  1  see  her  darning  corduroys, 
Scouring  floors,  and  setting  out  the  tea-things 

For  a  howling  herd  of  hungry  boys 

In  a  home  that  reeks  of  tar  and  sperm-oil  ! 

But  at  intervals  she  thinks,  I  know, 
Of  those  days  which  we,  afar  from  turmoil, 

Spent  together  forty  years  ago. 

O  my  earliest  love,  still  unforgotten, 

With  your  downcast  eyes  of  dreamy  blue  ! 

Never,  somehow,  could  I  seem  to  cotton 
To  another  as  I  did  to  you  ! 


354  OL/DYS  AND  OTHERS 

ON  A  FLY  DRINKING  OUT  OF  A  CUP  OF 

BUSY,  curious,  thirsty  fly, 
Drink  with  me,  and  drink  as  I  ; 
Freely  welcome  to  my  cup, 
Couldst  thou  sip  and  sip  it  up. 
Make  the  most  of  life  you  may  , 
Life  is  short  and  wears  away. 

Both  alike,  both  thine  and  mine, 
Hasten  quick  to  their  decline  ; 
Thine's  a  summer,  mine's  no  more, 
Though  repeated  to  three-score  : 
Three-score  summers,  when  they're  gone, 
Will  appear  as  short  as  one. 

WIUJAM  OT,DYS  (1696-1761). 

This  was  first  published  in  1732  as  "  The  Fly — An  Anachreontick  "  and 
Mr.  Gosse  in  the  Encyc.  Britt.  gave  the  first  six  lines  as  an  example  of  an 
Anacreontic.  He  attributed  the  poem  to  Oldys,  but  the  authorship  is 
doubtful.  (See  Notes  and  Queries,  3rd  Ser.,  /,  27).  Vincent  Bourne  in  a  copy 
of  his  Poematid)  1734,  in  my  possession,  has  written  out  and  signed  the  two 
verses,  entitling  them  "  A  Song,"  the  last  line  of  each  verse  being  repeated 
as  a  refrain.  From  this  it  might  appear  that  he  claimed  the  authorship. 
In  1743  he  published  a  Latin  version  of  the  poem.  Vincent  Bourne,  a 
beautiful  Latinist,  was  much  loved  by  his  pupils,  Charles  Lamb  and 
Cowper,  who  each  translated  into  English  some  of  his  fine  Latin  verses. 


THE  Earth  goeth  on  the  Earth,  glistening  like  gold, 
The  Earth  goeth  to  the  Earth,  sooner  than  it  wold, 
The  Earth  builds  on  the  Earth  castles  and  towers — 
The  Earth  says  to  the  Earth,  all  shall  be  ours. 

Epitaph,  1 7th  Century. 

An  inscription  on  a  tomb  in  Melrose  Abbey,  but  said  to  be  a  version 
of  lines  by  a  Fourteenth  Century  poet,  William  Billing. 


SHE  never  found  fault  with  you,  never  implied 
Your  wrong  by  her  right ;  and  yet  men  at  her  side 

Grew  nobler,  girls  purer - 

None  knelt  at  her  feet  confessed  lovers  in  thrall ; 
They  knelt  more  to  God  than  they  used— that  was  all. 

E.  B.  BROWNING 
(My  Kate). 


EIJOT  AND  OTHERS  355 

IT  takes  very  little  water  to  make  a  perfect  pool  for  a  tiny  fish, 
where  it  will  find  its  world  and  paradise  all  in  one,  and  never 
have  a  presentiment  of  the  dry  bank.  The  fretted  summer  shade, 
and  stillness,  and  the  gentle  breathing  of  some  loved  life  near  — 
it  would  be  paradise  to  us  all,  if  eager  thought,  the  strong 
angel  with  the  implacable  brow,  had  not  long  since  closed  the  gates. 

GEORGE  EUOT 

(Romola)  . 


true  Work  is  religion  ;  and  whatsoever  religion  is  not 
Work  may  go  and  dwell  among  the  Brahmins,  Antinomians, 
Spinning  Dervishes,  or  where  it  will  ;  with  me  it  shall  have  no 
harbour. 

CARI,YI.E 
(Reward). 

NATURE.,  the  old  nurse,  took 

The  child  upon  her  knee, 
Saying  :  '  Here  is  a  story  book 

Thy  Father  has  written  for  thee.' 

'  Come,  wander  with  me,'  she  said, 

'  Into  regions  yet  untrod  ; 
And  read  what  is  still  unread 

In  the  manuscripts  of  God.' 

And  he  wandered  away  and  away 

With  Nature,  the  dear  old  nurse, 
Who  sang  to  him  night  and  day 

The  rhymes  of  the  universe. 

And  whenever  the  way  seemed  long, 

Or  his  heart  began  to  fail, 
She  would  sing  a  more  wonderful  song, 

Or  tell  a  more  marvellous  tale. 


(Agassis). 

DEEP,  deep  are  loving  eyes, 
Flowed  with  naptha  fiery  sweet  ; 
And  the  point  is  paradise 
Where  their  glances  meet. 

R.  W.  EMERSON 

(The  Daemonic  and  the  Celestial  Love). 


356  BROWNING  AND  OTHERS 

.  .  .  AS  I  lie  here,  hours  of  the  dead  night, 

Dying  in  state  and  by  such  slow  degrees, 

I  fold  my  arms  as  if  they  clasped  a  crook, 

And  stretch  my  feet  forth,  straight  as  stone  can  point, 

And  let  the  bed-clothes,  for  a  mortcloth,  drop 

Into  great  laps  and  folds  of  sculptor's  work. 

R.  BROWNING 
(The  Bishop  orders  his  Tomb), 


FAIR  Margaret,  in  her  tidy  kirtle, 
I^ed  the  lorn  traveller  up  the  path, 

Through  clean-clipt  rows  of  box  and  myrtle  ; 
And  Don  and  Sancho,  Tramp  and  Tray, 

Upon  the  parlour  steps  collected, 
Wagged  all  their  tails,  and  seemed  to  say, — 
"  Our  master  knows  you — you're  expected." 

W.  M.  PRAED 
(The  Vicar}. 


SOMETIMES  a  troop  of  damsels  glad, 
An  abbot  on  an  ambling  pad, 
Sometimes  a  curly  shepherd-lad, 
Or  long-haired  page  in  crimson  clad, 
Goes  by  to  towered  Camelot. 

TENNYSON 
(The  Lady  of  Shalott). 

The  above  are  from  a  series  of  word-pictures  (see  p.  167). 


(PHANTASY  or  imagination  may  be  true  and  clear  or  may  be 
disordered  and  unsound)  .  .  .  The  phantastical  part  of  men 
(if  it  be  not  disordered)  is  a  representer  of  the  best,  most  comely 
and  bewtifull  images  or  appearances  of  thinges  to  the  soule 
and  according  to  their  very  truth.  ...  Of  this  sort  of  Phantasie 
are  all  good  Poets,  notable  Captaines  stratagematique,  all  cunning 
artificers  and  Engineers,  all  legislators,  Politiciens  and  Counsellours 
of  estate,  in  whose  exercises  the  inventive  part  is  most  employed 
and  is  to  the  sound  and  true  judgement  of  man  most  needful. 

GEORGE  PUTTENHAM 
(TheArte  of  English  Poesie,  1 589)* 


PUTTENHAM  357 

Just  as  a  poet,  besides  imagination,  must  have  intellect  or  judgment 
as  a  basis,  so  the  higher  imaginative  faculty  comes  to  the  aid  of  intellect 
in  other  departments  of  life.  As  Maudsley  says,  "  it  performs  the  initial 
and  essential  functions  in  every  branch  of  human  development  "  (Body 
and  Will}.  Ehrlich,  seeking  a  substance  that  would  destroy  germs  without 
injuring  the  human  tissues,  plods  through  endless  tedious  processes,  and 
on  his  6o6th  experiment,  discovers  salvarsan,  a  cure  for  syphilis.  Here 
the  higher  faculty  has  had  little  to  do — but  when,  on  the  fall  of  an  apple, 
Newton's  mind  saw  in  a  flash  how  the  world  was  balanced,  intellect  soared 
aloft  on  the  wings  of  imagination. 


AS  well  Poets  as  Poesie  are  despised,  and  the  name  become, 
of  honourable  infamous,  subject  to  scorne  and  derision,  and  rather 
a  reproach  than  a  prayse  to  any  that  useth  it :  for  commonly 
whoso  is  studious  in  the  Arte  or  shewes  himself e  excellent  in  it, 
they  call  him  in  disdayne  a  phantasticall  :  and  a  light-headed 
or  phantasticall  man  (by  conversion)  they  call  a  Poet.  .  .  Of 
such  among  the  Nobilitie  or  gentrie  as  be  very  well  scene  in  many 
laudable  sciences,  and  especially  in  Poesie,  it  is  so  come  to  passe 
that  they  have  no  courage  to  write  and  if  they  have,  yet  are  they 
loath  to  be  a  known  of  their  skill.  So  as  I  know  very  many  notable 
Gentlemen  in  the  Court  that  have  written  commendably  and 
suppressed  it  agayne,  or  else  suffred  it  to  be  publisht  without 
their  owne  names  to  it :  as  if  it  were  a  discredit  for  a  gentleman 
to  seeme  learned,  and  to  shew  himself  e  amorous  of  any  good  Arte. 

GEORGE  PUTTENHAM 
(The  Arte  of  English  Poesie,   1589). 


We  do  not  always  remember  in  what  disheartening  conditions  the 
great  Elizabethan  literature  was  produced — the  inferior  position  of  the 
writer,  his  wretched  remuneration  and  his  dependence  on  patrons.  It  is 
strange  to  think  that  it  was  considered  beneath  the  dignity  of  a  gentleman 
to  write  poetry  or  to  acknowledge  its  authorship — or  apparently  to  show 
proficiency  in  other  arts  or  sciences.  Such  men  as  Sir  Philip  Sidney  and 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh  were  exceptions.  The  curious  fact  is  that  Puttenham 
himself  (assuming,  as  is  probable,  that  he  was  the  author)  issued  this 
important  book  anonymously.  He  had,  however,  acknowledged  his 
Partheniades  ten  years  before. 

As  Arber  points  out,  the  above  passage,  and  another  reference  by 
Puttenham  to  the  same  subject,  indicate  that,  at  least  in  the  earlier  Eliza- 
bethan period,  much  talent  must  have  been  lost  and  much  literature 
never  reached  the  printing  press.  The  same  feeling  that  then  existed  is 
seen  again  in  Locke's  time  (see  p.  180),  and,  if  we  consider  a  moment,  we 
shall  find  that  it  has  persisted  to  some  extent  to  the  present  day.  Think  how 
miserably  inadequate  is  the  attention  paid  to  poetry  in  our  educational 
system,  the  methods  employed  being,  indeed,  calculated  to  make  the 


358  MOORE 

student  loathe  the  subject.  (When  I  was  young  ("  Ah,  woful  When  "  *) 
we  had  as  a  school  text-book  Palgrave's  Golden  Treasury — a  divine  gift 
to  us  in  those  days.  As  we  had  a  sympathetic  teacher,  we  read  it  as  poetry, 
and  the  consequence  was  that  I  and  other  boys  knew  the  book  practically 
by  heart  from  cover  to  cover.) 

It  is  surprising  that  EnglishmenT^neglect  the  one  great  talent  which 
they  possess.  What  distinguishes  them  above  all  other  nations  is  their 
superiority  in  the  higher  imaginative  faculties.t  This  is  shown  in  such  a 
national  characteristic  as  the  love  of  travel  and  adventure,  which  has 
created  the  British  Empire,  and  is  proved  concretely  by  the  fact  that  England 
has  produced  the  greatest  wealth  of  poetry  which  the  world  has  ever  seen. 
This  great  treasure,  which  should  be  employed  for  encouraging  the  highest 
of  all  faculties,  is  allowed  to  lie  idle.  The  fact  seems  to  be  overlooked 
that  the  study  of  poetry  is  not  only  of  enormous  intrinsic  value  in  knowledge, 
and  culture,  but  that  it  is  the  finest  of  all  mental  training.  By  analysis 
and  paraphrase  it  gives  knowledge  of  language,  appreciation  of  style, 
practice  in  literary  expression,  and,  above  all  things,  precision  of  thought. 
In  my  opinion,  poetry  should  form  an  essential  part  of  education,  beginning 
in  childhood  and  continuing  throughout  the  Arts  course.  It  may  be  found 
that  there  are  intelligent  persons  who  are  incapable  of  appreciating  poetry, 
and  the  subject  may,  therefore,  not  be  made  a  compulsory  one.  But  my 
conviction  is  that,  where  men  imagine  themselves  to  be  thus  deficient, 
it  is  the  result  of  a  bad  system  of  education.  There  is  great  truth  in  Steven- 
son's fine  essay,  "  The  Lantern-Bearers." 


GO,  wing  thy  flight  from  star  to  star, 
From  world  to  luminous  world,  as  far 
As  the  universe  spreads  its  flaming  wall : 
Take  all  the  pleasures  of  all  the  spheres, 
And  multiply  each  through  endless  years, 
One  minute  of  Heaven  is  worth  them  all. 

THOMAS  MOORE 
(Lalla  Rookh). 
A  Celtic  flight  of  imagination. 

*  See  p.  XVIII. 

t  Curiously  enough,  they  do  not  recognize  this,  but  rather  pride  themselves  upon 
being  shrewd,  commonsense,  practical  business-men,  "a  nation  of  shopkeepers" — 
although  their  entire  history  shows  the  contrary.  That  history  is  epitomized  in  such  an 
expression  as  "  England  the  Unready,"  or,  in  the  King's  appeal,  "  Wake  up,  England  !  " 
That  they  are  idealists  and  dreamers  can  be  shown  by  numberless  facts.  For  example, 
what  have  they  supported  in  the  sacred  name  of  Liberty?  The  laissez-faire  doctrine, 
that  law  is  an  infringement  of  freedom,  and,  therefore,  that  cruelty,  abuses,  and  absurdities 
must  not  be  interfered  with  ;  the  theory  that  England  should  be  the  home  of  freedom, 
and,  therefore,  that  the  scum  of  Europe  shall  infect  the  nation  ;  the  "  Palladium  of  English 
Liberty,"  Trial  by  Jury,  which  means  the  appointment  of  inexperienced,  irresponsible, 
and  easily-biassed  judges  ;  the  economic  policy,  which,  because  it  is  falsely  labelled  Free 
Trade,  becomes  a  fetish  against  which  no  practical  objection  must  be  urged  and  no  lesson 
learned  from  the  experience  of  other  countries.  On  the  other  hand,  our  experience 
in  the  present  war  is  a  proof  that  the  imaginative  faculties  are  more  powerful  than  mere 
intellect  :  for,  when  the  Englishman  bends  his  energies  to  the  business  of  war,  he  soon 
surpasses  the  German  for  all  his  fifty  years'  preparation.  See  p.  39. 


HODGSON  AND  OTHERS  359 

AND  on  we  roll — the  year  goes  by 

As  year  by  year  must  ever  go, 
And  castles  built  of  bits  of  sky 

Must  fall  and  lose  their  wondrous  glow  ; 

But  Hope  with  his  wings  is  not  yet  old, 

While  every  year  like  a  summer  day 
Ends  and  begins  with  grey  and  gold, 

Begins  and  ends  with  gold  and  grey. 

RICHARD  HODGSON. 


WHEN  none  need  broken  meat, 
How  can  our  cake  be  sweet  ? 
When  none  want  flannel  and  coals, 
How  shall  we  save  our  souls  ? 

Oh  dear  !  oh  dear  ! 
The  Christian  virtues  will  disappear. 


STETSON. 


SINCE  we  parted  yester  eve, 

I  do  love  thee,  love,  believe 
Twelve  times  dearer,  twelve  hours  longer, 
One  dream  deeper,  one  night  stronger, 
One  sun  surer — thus  much  more 

Than  I  loved  thee,  love,  before. 

OWEN  MEREDITH  (EARI,  OF  I,YTTON) 
(Love  Fancies). 


THE  Dahlia  you  brought  to  our  Isle 
Your  praises  for  ever  shall  speak 
'Mid  gardens  as  sweet  as  your  smile 
And  colours  as  bright  as  your  cheek. 

L£>RD 


A  pretty  compliment  to  his  wife  who  in  1814  had  introduced  the  dahlia 
into  England  from  Spain.  Previous  attempts  had  failed  (Liechtenstein's 
Holland  House}. 


360  MUSSET  AND  OTHERS 

C'EST  imiter  quelqu'un  que  de  planter  des  clioux. 

A.  DE  MUSSET. 

Quoted  by  Austin  Dobson  : — 

.  .  .  And  you,  whom  we  all  so  admire, 

Dear  Critics,  whose  verdicts  are  always  so  new  ! 
One  word  in  your  ear  :  There  were  Critics  before  . 

And  the  man  who  plants  cabbages  imitates,  loo  \ 


.  .  .  THE  great  book  of  actual  life,  sad,  diffuse,  contradictory, 
yet  always  full  of  depth  and  significance. 

GEORGE  SAND 
(The  Miller  of  Angibaull). 


LIFE  is  mostly  froth  and  bubble  ; 

Two  things  stand  like  stone  : — 
Kindness  in  another's  trouble, 

Courage  in  your  own. 

ADAM  LINDSAY  GORDON  (1833-1870 
(Ye  Weary  Wayfarer). 


A    NOISELESS,    PATIENT   SPIDER 


A  NOISELESS,  patient  spider, 

I  mark'd,  where,  on  a  little  promontory,  it  stood,  isolated  ; 

Mark'd  how,  to  explore  the  vacant,  vast  surrounding, 

It  launched  forth  filament,  filament,  filament,  out  of  itself  ; 

Ever  unreeling  them — ever  tirelessly  speeding  them. 

And  you,  O  my  Soul,  where  you  stand, 

Surrounded,  surrounded,  in  measureless  oceans  of  space, 

Ceaselessly  musing,  venturing,  throwing, — seeking  the  spheres, 

to  connect  them  ; 
Till  the  bridge  you  will  need,  be  form'd — till  the  ductile 

anchor  hold ; 
Till  the  gossamer  thread  you  fling,  catch  somewhere,  O  my 

Soul. 

WAI/T  WHITMAN 
(Leaves  of  Grass). 


ELIOT  AND  OTHERS  361 

THE  Future,  that  bright  land  which  swims 
In  western  glory,  isles  and  streams  and  bays, 
Where  hidden  pleasures  float  in  golden  haze. 

GEORGE  EUOT 
(Jubal). 


NYMPH  A  pudica  Deum  vidit,  et  erubuit. 
(The  modest  Nymph  saw  her  God  and  blushed.) 


THE  conscious  water  saw  its  God  and  blushed. 

RICHARD  CRASHAW  (1616-1650). 

Referring  to  the  miracle  of  Cana.     Both  Latin  and  English  epigrams 
aie  by  Crashaw.     In  the  former  the  water  is  personified  by  its  Nymph. 


CALLED  on  the  W.  Molesworths.  He  is  threatened  with  total 
blindness,  and  his  excellent  wife  is  learning  to  work  in  the  dark 
in  preparation  for  a  darkened  chamber.  What  things  wives  are  ! 
What  a  spirit  of  joyous  suffering,  confidence,  and  love  was 
incarnated  in  Eve  !  'Tis  a  pity  they  should  eat  apples. 

CAROLINE  Fox's  JOURNAL^. 


.  .  .  EARTH  and  ocean, 
Space,  and  the  isles  of  life  or  light  that  gem 
The  sapphire  floods  of  interstellar  air, 
This  firmament  pavilioned  upon  chaos, 
With  all  its  cressets  of  immortal  fire. 

SHELLEY 
(Hellas). 


VOX,  et  praeterea  nihil. 
[Words  (literally  voice)  and  nothing  more.] 


PROVERB. 


362  SHELLEY  AND  OTHERS 

Plutarch,  in  his  Apophthegm,  Lacon.  Incert.  XIII,  says  that  a  man 
after  plucking  a  nightingale  and  finding  little  flesh  on  it,  said 
4>tava  r6  ns  iffa\,  KO.\  ovttv  &\*o,  "  Thou  art  voice  and  nothing  more  " 
(King's  Classical  and  Foreign  Quotations').  No  doubt  this  was  the  origin 
of  the  saying.  It  was  applied  to  the  nightingale,  and  to  Echo — and  then 
used  in  Hamlet's  sense,  "  Words,  words,  words." 


,  like  a  dome  of  many-coloured  glass, 
Stains  the  white  radiance  of  Eternity. 


(Adonais  1,11). 

Two  of  the  most  marvellous  lines  in  all  literature.     With  them  as  a 
text  volumes  might  be  written. 


CAMPBELL  the  poet,  who  had  always  a  bad  razor,  I  suppose, 
and  was  late  of  rising,  said  he  believed  the  man  of  civilization 
who  lived  to  be  sixty  had  suffered  more  pain  in  littles  in  shaving 
every  day  than  a  woman  with  a  large  family  had  from  her  lyings- 
in. 

JOHN  BROWN 
(Horae  Subsecivae  I,  457). 


BEAUTY  is  worse  than  wine,  it  intoxicates  both  the  holder 
and  the  beholder. 

J.   G.   ZlMMERMANN 


THE  maid  (and  thereby  hangs  a  tale) 
For  such  a  maid  no  Whitsun-ale 

Could  ever  yet  produce  : 
No  grape,  that's  kindly  ripe,  could  be 
So  round,  so  plump,  so  soft  as  she, 

Nor  half  so  full  of  juice. 

Her  feet  beneath  her  petticoat 
Like  little  mice  stole  in  and  out, 

As  if  they  fear'd  the  light : 
But  O,  she  dances  such  a  way  ! 
No  sun  upon  an  Easter-day 

Is  half  so  fine  a  sight. 


SUCKLING— MYERS  363 

Her  cheeks  so  rare  a  white  was  on, 
No  daisy  makes  comparison 

(Who  sees  them  is  undone)  ; 
For  streaks  of  red  were  mingled  there. 
Such  as  are  on  a  Catherine  pear, 

The  side  that's  next  the  sun. 

Her  lips  were  red,  and  one  was  thin 
Compar'd  to  that  was  next  her  chin, 

(Some  bee  had  stung  it  newly), 
But,  Dick,  her  eyes  so  guard  her  face 
I  durst  no  more  upon  them  gaze 

Than  on  the  sun  in  July. 

SIR  JOHN  SUCKLING 

(Ballad  upon  a  Wedding.) 


"  Some  bee  had  stung  it."     /*,  of  course,  means  the  full  underlip,  as 
against  the  less  full  upperlip. 


SUCH  is  the  ascendancy  which  the  great  works  of  the  Greek 
imagination  have  established  over  the  mind  of  man  that.  .  .  . 
he  is  tempted  to  ignore  the  real  superiority  of  our  own  religion, 
morality,  civilization,  and  to  re-shape  in  fancy  an  adult  world 
on  an  adolescent  ideal. 

F.  W.  H.  MYERS 

(Essay  on  Greek  Oracles). 


THAT  early  burst  of  admiration  for  Virgil  of  which  I  have  already 
spoken  was  followed  by  a  growing  passion  for  one  after  another  of 
the  Greek  and  Latin  poets.  From  ten  to  sixteen  I  lived  much 
in  the  inward  recital  of  Homer,  Aeschylus,  Lucretius,  Horace, 
and  Ovid.  The  reading  of  Plato's  Gorgias  at  fourteen  was  a 
great  event ;  but  the  study  of  the  Phaedo  at  sixteen  affected 
upon  me  a  kind  of  conversion.  At  that  time,  too,  I  returned 
to  my  worship  of  Virgil,  whom  Homer  had  for  some  years  thrust 
into  the  background.  I  gradually  wrote  out  Bucolics,  Georgics. 
Aeneid  from  memory 


.S64  MYERS 

The  discovery  at  seventeen,  in  an  old  school  book,  of  the  poems 
of  Sappho,  whom  till  then  I  had  only  known  by  name,  brought  an 
access  of  intoxicating  joy.  Later  on,  the  solitary  decipherment 
of  Pindar  made  another  epoch  of  the  same  kind.  From  the  age 
of  sixteen  to  twenty-three  there  was  no  influence  in  my  life 
comparable  to  Hellenism  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word.  That 
tone  of  thought  came  to  me  naturally  ;  the  classics  were  but 
intensifications  of  my  own  being.  They  drew  from  me  and 
fostered  evil  as  well  as  good ;  they  might  aid  imaginative 
impulse  and  detachment  from  sordid  interests,  but  they  had 
no  check  for  pride. 

When  pushed  thus  far,  the  "  Passion  of  the  Past "  must 
needs  wear  away  sooner  or  later  into  an  unsatisfied  pain.  In 
1864  I  travelled  in  Greece.  I  was  mainly  alone  ;  nor  were  the 
traveller's  facts  and  feelings  mapped  out  for  him  then  as  now. 
Ignorant  as  I  was,  according  to  modern  standards,  yet  my 
emotions  were  all  my  own  :  and  few  men  can  have  drunk  that  de- 
parted loveliness  into  a  more  passionate  heart.  It  was  the  life 
of  about  the  sixth  century  before  Christ,  on  the  isles  of  the  Aegean, 
which  drew  me  most  ; — that  intensest  and  most  unconscious 
bloom  of  the  Hellenic  spirit.  Here  alone  in  the  Greek  story 
do  women  play  their  due  pait  with  men.  What  might  the  Greeks 
have  made  of  the  female  sex  had  they  continued  to  care  for  it  ! 
Then  it  was  that  Mimnermus  sang  : — 

rtt  &f  8i6v,  rt  8*  rtpirvbv  Svev  xPv(T(rjs  'A.<ppodiTrjs } 
Tfdvalrjv,   art  ftoi  ^irj/trr*  ravra  /tcAot.  * 

Then  it  was  that  Praxilla's  cry  rang  out  across  the  narrow 
seas,  that  call  to  fellowship,  reckless  and  lovely  with  stirring 
joy.  "  Drink  with  me  !  "  she  cried,  "  be  young  along  with  me  ! 
Love  with  me  !  wear  with  me  the  garland  crown  !  Mad  be  thou 
with  my  madness  ;  be  wise  when  I  am  wise  !  " 

I  looked  through  my  open  porthole  close  upon  the  Lesbian 
shore.  There  rose  the  heathery  promontories,  and  waves  lapped 
upon  the  rocks  in  dawning  day  : — lapped  upon  those  rocks 
where  Sappho's  feet  had  trodden  ;  broke  beneath  the  heather  on 
which  had  sat  that  girl  unknown,  nearness  to  whom  made  a 
man  the  equal  of  the  gods.  I  sat  in  Mytilene,  to  me  a  sacred  city, 
between  the  hill-crest  and  the  sunny  bay 

Gazing  thence  on  Delos  on  the  Cyclades,  and  on  those  straits 
and  channels  of  purple  sea,  I  felt  that  nowise  could  I  come 
closer  still ;  never  more  intimately  than  thus  could  embrace  that 
vanished  beauty.  Alas  for  an  ideal  which  roots  itself  in  the 
past !  That  longing  cannot  be  allayed. 

F.  W.  H.  MYERS 
(Fragments  of  Prose  and  Poetry). 

»    "What  is  lite,  what  gladness  without  the  golden  Aphrodite  ?     May  death   be 
mine  when  these  joys  no  longer  please  me  !  " 


MYERS  365 

The  wonderful  record  of  Myers  in  classical  study  will  first  be  observed. 
If  we  did  not  know  him  to  be  absolutely  trustworthy,  we  would  find  it 
practically  impossible  to  believe  his  statement.  Imagine,  for  instance, 
a  boy  of  sixteen  learning  by  heart  the  whole  of  Virgil  for  his  own  pleasure  ! 
However,  anything  vouched  for  by  Myers  must  be  accepted  as  literally 
true. 

Extraordinary  as  this  is,  the  above  quotations  introduce  us  to  a  subject 
quite  as  extraordinary  and  far  more  interesting  and  important,  namely, 
the  distortion  of  truth  caused  by  extreme  classical  enthusiasm.*  It  is 
perfectly  easy  to  see  how  such  enthusiasm  arises.  Greek  art  and  literature 
are  not  only  intrinsically  wonderful  and  valuable  but,  seeing  that  they 
were  produced  by  a  comparatively  small  population  in  a  barbaric  age,  they 
constitute  the  greatest  (secular)  marvel  in  the  history  of  the  world.  Every- 
thing tends  to  excite  enthusiasm  for  this  remote,  alien,  primitive,  but 
most  remarkable  people.  I  need  not  speak  of  the  art  in  which  they  stand 
unrivalled  throughout  the  ages.  As  regards  their  literature,  apart  from  its 
intrinsic  excellence  and  the  beauty  of  the  language  in  which  it  is  written, 
it  has  an  additional  fascination  and  charm,  because  it  is  the  speech  and  song 
of  the  infancy  of  the  world.  Through  it  we  see  into  the  mind  and  realize 
the  life  of  the  most  interesting  race  that  ever  lived.  Possessing  astounding 
intellect  and  intense  originality,  they  were  nevertheless  the  children  of 
nature.  Their  earth  was  peopled  with  fauns  and  nymphs,  their  gods  lived 
and  moved  and  had  their  being  in  every  natural  object — and  they  had 
very  little  of  our  ideas  of  right  and  wrong.  They  had  nothing  of  our  wide 
knowledge  and  experience,  yet  they  constructed  a  world  of  life  and  thought 
for  themselves.  It  is  absorbingly  interesting  to  read  their  beautiful  poetry, 
fine  literature,  and  philosophic  thought,  bearing  in  mind  that  it  was  produced 
in  the  ignorant  childhood  and  paganism  of  the  human  race,  over  two  thou- 
sand years  ago.  And  one  of  the  most  astonishing  things  about  them  is 
that  essential  product  of  civilization,  a  keen  sense  of  humour.  So  curiously 
"  modern  "  is  their  literature  that  the  writers  speak  to  us  across  the  ages 
with  as  vivid  a  voice  as  if  they  were  still  alive.  No  other  primitive  race  has 
been  able  to  leave  us  any  such  adequate  conception  of  its  life  and  thought. 
Moreover,  we  can  never  forget  how  the  Greek  arose  out  of  the  tomb,  where 
he  had  slept  for  many  centuries,  to  preside  at  the  re-birth  of  our  own  modern 
world — that  emergence  of  Europe  from  medieval  darkness  which  we  call 
the  Renaissance.  It  was  largely  Greek  art  and  literature  that  stimulated 
the  mental  activity  of  the  world  and  made  us  what  we  are  to-day. 

Very  great  enthusiasm  is,  therefore,  warranted  in  the  Greek  student — 
but  there  comes  a  point  where  enthusiasm  may  become  pure  fanaticism, 
and  lead  to  that  most  deadly  of  all  things,  the  perversion  of  the  truth. 


. 

e  middle  hall  of  the  Fifth  Century  B.C.     A  large 
d  literature  was  produced  by  this  tiny  state  in  that 


proportion  of  the  finest  lireek  art  and  literature  was  produced  by  this  tiny  state  in  tna 
short  period.  This  is  the  miracle  of  antiquity.  It  is  to  Attica  during  this  period  that  m; 
remarks  mainly  refer. 

The  reader  will  not  be  able  to  follow  this  note  properly,  unless  he  has  read  the  other 
notes  on  the  same  subject  (see  Index  of  Subjects). 


366  MYERS 

In  the  above  quotations  two  Greek  poems  are  quoted,  and  another  is 
referred  to  in  the  lines  I  have  italicized.  The  first  two*  refer  to  vice,  which 
to  us  is  revolting  and  criminal,  but  to  the  whole  Greek  nation  was  natural, 
and  recognised  by  law.  The  third  expresses  even  more  revolting  passion. 
It  will  be  seen,  therefore,  that  Myers,  in  order  to  illustrate  the  "  departed 
loveliness  "  of  Greek  life  made  a  strange  choice  of  quotations  (which  also, 
standing  alone,  would  give  a  very  false  notion  of  classic  Greek  poetry). 

Seeing  that  Myers  was  one  of  the  purest-minded  of  men,  what  is  the 
explanation  of  this  very  remarkable  fact  ?  The  explanation  is  simply 
that  Myers  was  a  classical  enthusiast.  He  had  forgotten  the  warning 
he  himself  gave  in  the  first  quotation.  It  is  absolutely  amazing  how  such 
an  enthusiast,  however  brilliant  a  scholar  and  capable  a  man  in  other 
respects,  can  blind  himself  to  the  most  obvious  facts  where  anything 
Greek  is  concerned.  It  is  very  certain  that  Myers  read  into  each  poem  a 
perfectly  innocent  meaning — and  he  would  not  be  alone  in  that  respect. 
Take,  for  instance,  the  third  quotation  which  is  from  Sappho.  In  my 
youth  the  great  majority  of  classical  men  appeared  to  have  convinced 
themselves  that  a  poem  of  terribly  fierce  passion  was  an  expression  of 
mere  friendship  !  Even  our  leading  reference-book,  Smith's  Dictionary 
of  Greek  and  Roman  Biography,  gave  the  same  absurd  view  until  about 
1877^  However,  we  must  get  away  from  this  ugly  subject  and  seek 
further  illustrations  elsewhere. 

This  perverted  enthusiasm  seems  to  permeate  all  books  of  the  last 
fifty  or  sixty  years  dealing  with  Greek  life,  art  and  literature  that  I  have 
met  with.  This  is  a  very  large  statement  to  make,  and,  of  course,  I  do  not 
mean  that  such  flagrant  instances  as  those  above  referred  to  are  the  rule. 
But  to  me  there  seems  always  to  be  some  bias  which  tends  to  exaggerate 
or  falsify  the  facts  to  some  extent.  We  can  trace  this  tendency  back  more 
than  eighteen  hundred  years  to  Plutarch.  (On  the  Malice  of  Herodotus}. 
He,  as  Mr.  Livingstone^  says,  "  took  the  view  that  the  Greeks  of  the  great 
age  could  do  no  wrong,  and  rates  the  historian  for  "  needlessly  describing 
evil  actions.'  "  And  it  is  largely  in  this  way  that  the  enthusiast  works — 
by  omitting  facts.  I  should  think  few  readers  unfamiliar  with  the  classics 
will  have  known  all  the  facts  already  put  before  them  in  these  notes — 
because  such  facts,  although  known  to  all  classical  scholars,  are  kept  in 
the  background  as  much  as  possible.  Again  the  tendency  is  to  judge  the 
Greeks  by  their  greatest  men — to  imagine  every  Greek  to  have  been  a  Plato  ! 

I  might  add  greatly  to  what  I  have  already  said  about  the  Greeks, 
but  I  must  confine  myself  to  a  few  matters,  repeating  nothing  that  has 
been  said  in  previous  notes.  The  Greeks  had  very  little  regard  for  truth- 
fulness. An  oath  was  a  matter  of  religion  and  was  supposed  to  be  binding 
upon  them,  but  it  was  excusable  to  twist  out  of  it.  They  also  saw  nothing 

«  The?second  is  not  by  Praxilla.  It  is  to  be  found  in  Athenaeus  (XV.  695),  and  is 
written  in  the  masculine.  Most  curiously  the  same  mistake  is  made  in  the  Parnasse  dcs 
Dames,  an  i8th  Century  French  book  in  which  Myers  would  not  have  been  interested. 

t  One  at  least  of  the  Sappho  enthusiasts  still  survives.  See  Professor  T.  G.  Tucker's 
Sapphc. 

£  "  The  Greek  Genius  and  itsjneaning  to  us." 


MYERS  367 

mmoral  in  theft.  Hermes  was  the  god  of  thieves,  and  "  the  wily  Odysseus  " 
was  a  favourite  hero  of  the  Greeks.  Autolycus,  the  grandfather  of  Odysseus, 
was  taught  by  Hermes  himself  to  surpass  all  men  in  stealing  and  perjury. 
(Od.  XIX,  395.)  Hence  it  was  thought  quite  a  proper  thing  to  make  war 
for  the  purpose  of  robbing  neighbours  of  territory  or  property.  I  need 
quote  only  the  truly  "  German  "  opinions  of  Socrates  and  Aristotle  placed 
by  Mr.  Zimmern  at  the  head  of  his  chapter  on  Warfare  in  The  Greek  Common- 
wealth. "  But,  Socrates,  it  is  possible  to  procure  wealth  for  the  State 
from  our  foreign  enemies."  "  Yes,  certainly  you  may,  if  yon  are  the  stronger 
power  "  (Xen.  Mem.,  Ill,  6,  7).  "  War  is  strictly  a  means  of  acquisition, 
to  be  employed  against  wild  animals  and  against  inferior  races  of  men  who, 
though  intended  by  nature  to  be  in  subjection  to  us,  are  unwilling  to  submit  [!], 
for  war  of  such  a  kind  is  just  by  nature"  (Aristotle,  Politics,  1256). 
On  considering  that  such  sentiments  are  expressed  by  their  greatest  philoso- 
phers, we  are  not  surprised  to  find  that  the  history  of  the  Greeks  is  one  of 
lies,  perfidy,  and  cruelty*  It  further  illustrates  their  unsympathetic 
pagan  character  when  we  find  the  Greek  mother  mourning  for  her  dead 
son  because  he  will  not  "  feed  her  old  age,"  and  Socrates  valuing  friendship 
because  friends  were  useful.f  When  the  enthusiast  is  confronted  with 
the  debased  Greek  religion  he  tells  us,  or  leads  us  to  think,  that  the  people 
did  not  believe  in  their  dissolute  gods.  As  regards  this  I  cannot  do  better 
than  quote  the  terse  statement  of  Mr.  Livingstone.  After  pointing  out  that 
there  were  some  advanced  thinkers  among  the  Greeks  who  were  more  or 
less  sceptics  (and  that  there  were  also  some  small  sects  who  are  said  to  have 
had  higher  moral  beliefs  than  their  countrymen**)  he  says,"  We  are  concerned 
with  the  state  religion,  which  Athenians  learnt  to  reverence  as  children, 
which  permeated  the  national  literature,  which  crowned  the  high  places 
of  the  city  with  its  temples,  which  consecrated  peace  and  war  and  every- 
thing solemn  and  ceremonial  in  civil  life,  which  by  its  intimate  connection 
with  these  things  acquired  that  support  of  instinctive  sentiment  which  is 
stronger  than  any  moral  or  intellectual  sanction."^:  Something  may  be 
added  to  this.  Why  was  the  Greek  so  greatly  concerned  about  his  tomb 
and  his  burial  rites  ?  The  main  reason  why  he  burdened  himself  with  a 
wife  and  household  was  that  a  son  should  be  left  to  see  to  those  rites  and 
look  after  his  tomb.  He  did  not  see  his  wife  before  marriage,  and,  however 
beautiful  he  found  her  to  be,  the  uneducated  girl  would  be  no  companion 
for  him  ;  and  her  beauty  would  soon  fade  in  the  unwholesome  confined  life 
she  led.  Her  office  was  fulfilled  when  she  had  borne  him  sons — and  he 
looked  for  his  pleasures  elsewhere.  Surely  this  one  fact  alone  proves  that 
the  Greeks  had  a  very  real  belief  in  their  religion.  Again  why  do  we  find 
that  only  Socrates  and  a  few  other  thinkers  appear  to  have  been  charged 
with  impiety  ?  Mr.  Livingstone,  curiously  enough,  argues  from  this  that 
there  was  greater  freedom  of  thought  among  the  Greeks.  Surely  the  simple 
and  natural  explanation  is  far  preferable,  namely,  that  there  were  no 
other  pronounced  sceptics  than  those  few  advanced  thinkers.  Imagine  the 
danger  of  declaring  anything  against  the  gods  which  would  throw  in  doubt 


*  It  should  be  remembered,  however,  that  this  is  largely  the  history  of  Prussia  also, 
t  See  Mr.  Livingstone's  book. 
**  But  see  p.  374  as  to  Dionysiac  sect 

*  See  an  interesting  passage  in   Plato's  Republic,   i,   350.       See  also   p.  173  as 
to  Herodotus. 


368  MYERS 

the  divinity  of  the  patron  goddess  Athena  !*  It  is  often  argued  that  the 
intelligent  Greeks  could  no  more  have  believed  the  monstrous  stories  of 
their  gods,  than  we  believe  some  of  the  Old  Testament  stories  of  Jehovah. 
But  the  position  is  entirely  different.  We  disbelieve  stories  that  offend 
our  moral  sense  :  the  gods  of  the  Greeks  had  a  character  similar  to  their 
own,  and  acted  as  they  themselves  would  have  acted  if  they  had  been  gods. 
Also  they  had  no  ethnology,  no  knowledge  of  purer  religions  to  teach  them 
the  falsity  and  depravity  of  their  own — nor,  indeed,  would  the  proud 
Greeks  have  condescended  to  learn  from  barbarians  (especially  as  they 
believed  themselves  descended  from  heroes  who  were  sprung  from  the  gods). 
Finally  one  has  only  to  read  the  accounts  of  travellers  in  Greece  to  learn 
that  the  religion  even  lingers  on  to-day — see,  for  instance,  S.  C.  Kaines 
Smith's  Greek  An  and  National  Life  (pp.  153,  172),  where  the  woodcutters, 
when  a  tree  is  falling,  throw  themselves  on  the  ground  and  hide  their  faces 
in  deadly  fear  of  the  Dryads,t  and  an  eminent  Greek  gentleman  crosses 
himself  at  the  name  of  the  Nereids.  (See  also  W.  H.  D.  Rouse's  Tales 
from  the  Isles  of  Greece.  I  learn  from  the  Spectator  review  of  a  book  just 
published,  Balkan  Home  Life,  by  Lucy  M.  J.  Garnett,  that  the  religion 
has  a  very  strong  hold  on  the  people.) 

My  statement  has  been  very  one-sided  so  far,  as  I  have  said  very  little 
of  the  virtues  of  the  Greeks.  These  virtues  were  those  of  intelligent 
primitive  people,  love  of  freedom,  justice,  and  equality  (but  confined  to 
their  own  nation  and  not  including  their  own  women  and  slaves),  personal 
courage,  great  patriotism,  fidelity  to  kinsfolk  and  guests  ;  they  showed 
at  times  generosity  to  a  valiant  enemy  and  recognized  some  such  duties 
as  burying  the  dead.  While  I  do  not  think  we  can  carry  the  national 
virtues  much  further  than  this,  there  would  be  gradations  of  character 
among  the  Greeks,  and  probably  many  would  be  more  or  less  kindly, 
others  have  a  true  affection  for  their  wives,  others  show  private  virtues 
in  various  directions — we  can  only  conjecture  as  to  something  of  which 
there  is  very  little  evidence  in  their  literature.  On  the  one  hand,  we  know 
that  Socrates  suffered  martyrdom  for  the  truth,:}:  and  we  may  surmise  that 
there  were  other  fine  characters  ;  on  the  other  hand,  we  know  that  this 
highly  intellectual  nation  put  the  philosopher  to  death  as  a  blasphemer 
against  their  profligate  gods. 


*  This  should  be  taken  into  account  in  interpreting  the  plays  of  Euripides,  who  was 
probably  a  sceptic.  The  case  of  Aristophanes  was  different— he  was  known  to  be  orthodox 
and  almost  any  licence  was  permitted  on  the  Comic  Stage. 

t  Perhaps  these  woodcutters  would  not  have  entirely  appreciated  what  Mr.  G. 
Lowes  Dickinson  (The  Greek  View  of  Life)  says  of  the  Greek  divinities.  He  tells  us 
that  the  Greek  originally  felt  "  bewilderment  and  terror  in  the  presence  of  the  powers 
of  nature,"  but  his  religion  developed  "  till  at  last  from  the  womb  of  the  dark  enigma 
that  haunted  him  in  the  beginning  there  emerged  into  the  charmed  light  of  a  world  of 
ideal  grace  a  pantheon  of  fair  and  concrete  personalities."  (The  italics  are  mine).  The 
classical  enthusiast  always  pictures  the  Greeks  as  living  m  fairyland :  actually  the  gods 
and  lesser  divinities  were  to  them  for  the  most  part  objects  of  awe  and  dread.  In  this 
'  world  of  ideal  grace  "  there  would  be,  for  example,  the  horrible  Furies  who  dwelt  in 
their  grotto  in  Athens  ! 

}  I  think  it  correct  to  say  this,  although  there  were  political  reasons  also  for  prose- 
cuting Socrates  and,  if  he  had  shown  less  contempt  for  his  judges,  he  might  have  been 
acquitted. 


MYKRS  369 

But  while  we  can  give  the  Greeks  credit  for  little  of  the  morality  of 
modern  civilization,  on  the  other  hand  we  would  be  thinking  very  absurdly 
if  we  regarded  their  vices  as  though  the  people  were  on  the  same  moral 
plane  as  ourselves.  (This  is  the  fact  to  be  recognised.  The  ridiculous 
tendency  of  the  modern  enthusiast  is  to  depict  the  Greeks  as  a  highly 
moral  nation  striving  for  righteousness  1)  Strictly  speaking,  the  Greek 
practices  and  habits  should  not  be  called  vices,  because  the  Greeks  had  no 
reason  to  believe  that  they  were  doing  anything  wrong.  Their  virtues 
and  their  vices  were  those  of  ordinary  primitive  life.*  The  moral  principle, 
that  highest  product  of  creation,  had  not  yet  developed  itself  among  the 
people  to  any  appreciable  extent,  but  we  see  it  gradually  emerging  in  the 
growing  disbelief  in  the  national  religion  among  thinking  men,  and  reaching 
an  advanced  stage  in  Plato,  the  greatest  philosopher  of  antiquity.  But 
to  the  average  Greek,  apart  from  religion  (including  respect  for  parents), 
the  patriotism  which  they  had  learnt  from  Homer,  their  one  great  book, 
covered  much  of  what  th'ey  meant  by  "  virtue  ".f  Whatever  was  good 
for  the  State  was  a  virtue,  whatever  bad  for  the  State  a  vice.  We  can 
hardly  realize  what  Athens  stood  for  in  the  Greek  mind.  For  instance, 
/Eschylus  tells  us  that  the  patron  goddess  Athena  came  to  Athens  to  preside 
over  the  balloting  of  the  jurors  and  conduct  the  trial  of  Orestes,  and  also 
that  the  Furies  lived  among  the  citizens  in  a  sacred  grotto.  The  Greeks 
saw  that  they  were  immensely  superior  to  the  surrounding  "  barbarians," 
and  they  regarded  their  State  practically  as  an  object  of  worship  (as  Rome 
was  also  regarded  by  the  Romans). 

It  would  have  been  interesting  to  discuss  here  the  ethical  views  of 
the  philosophers,  but  the  subject  is  far  too  intricate  for  this  note — and 
in  any  case  they  and  their  followers  formed  only  a  few  exceptions  among 
the  Greeks.  It  will  be  seen  later  that  the  use  of  such  words  as  "  virtue," 
"  holiness,"  etc.,  causes  a  vast  deal  of  meaning  to  be  read  into  Plato  which 
never  entered  that  philosopher's  mind. 

The  great  outstanding  fact  about  the  Greeks  is  their  astonishing 
intellect,  combined  with  sound  commonsense  (<r<a<ppoavvii)  and  a  quite 
modern  gift  of  humour.  Their  powerful  intellect,  however,  had  very  poor 
material  to  work  upon.  In  a  previous  note  I  have  mentioned  their  remark- 
ably limited  idea  of  the  world — but,  while  knowing  this  to  be  a  fact,  we 
still  cannot  realize  the  mental  attitude  of  men  who  had  even  one  false  con- 
ception of  such  magnitude  as  regards  their  general  outlook  and  thought. 
Let  us  take  an  instance  of  a  different  kind  from  the  great  philosopher 
Aristotle  (384-322  B.C.),  who  came  after  Plato — bearing  in  mind  that  the 
average  Greeks  would  be  vastly  more  ignorant  and  superstitious  than 
their  greatest  thinkers.  In  his  Mechanica  Aristotle  explains  the  power 
of  a  lever  to  make  a  small  weight  lift  a  larger  one.  His  explanation  is  that 
a  circle  has  a  certain  magical  character.  A  very  wonderful  thing  is  a  circle, 
because  it  is  both  convex  and  concave;  it  is  made  by  a  fixed  point  and  a 
moving  line,  which  are  contradictory  to  each  other ;  and  whatever  has  a 

*  I  do  not  know  how  far  unnatural  vice  extended  among  other  peoples ;  but  the 
statement  in  Plato's  "  Symposium  "  that  the  lonians  and  most  of  the  barbarians  held 
it  in  evil  repute  is  strongly  condemnatory  of  the  Greeks. 

t  See  how  this  idea  pervades  the  whole  of  the  famous  Funeral  Speech  of  Pericles, 
and  how  he  defines  what  is  "  the  good  life  "  of  a  citizen. 


370  MYERS 

circular  movement  moves  in  opposite  directions.  Also,  Aristotle  says, 
movement  in  a  circle  is  the  most  natural  movement !  Hence  we  get  the 
result :  the  long  arm  of  the  lever  moves  in  the  larger  circle  and  has  the 
greater  amount  of  this  magical  natural  motion,  and  so  requires  the  lesser 
force  !  Again,  let  us  take  a  story  which  was  as  firmly  believed  by  Aristotle 
as  the  most  ignorant  of  his  countrymen.  Our  word  halcyon  is  the  Greek 
word  Alkuon,  meaning  a  bird,  probably  of  the  Kingfisher  species.  The 
Greeks  supposed  the  word  to  be  formed  of  two  words,  hols  kuon,  meaning 
"  conceived  in  the  sea  " — therefore  they  believed  the  bird  was  so  conceived 
and  that  it  was  bred  in  a  nest  floating  on  the  sea — and,  as  the  sea  must 
then  be  smooth,  they  further  believed  that  a  period  of  fourteen  days'  calm 
necessarily  occurred  about  Christmas — finding  there  was  no  such  period 
of  calm  around  their  own  coasts  they  either  thought  that  it  must  occur 
(and  the  birds  breed)  elsewhere,  or,  like  Theocritus,  that  the  bird  could 
charm  the  sea  into  tranquillity.* 

The  Greeks  believed  queer  things  about  animals.  I  take  the  following 
instances  of  birds  alone  from  Mr.  Rogers'  Introduction  to  his  Birds  of 
Aristophanes,  so  that  I  need  not  give  references.  By  looking  at  a  plover, 
who  returns  the  look,  a  man  is  cured  of  jaundice.  Penelope,  the  wife  of 
Odysseus,  was  said  to  have  been  so  named  because,  having  been  cast  into 
the  sea,  she  was  rescued  by  widgeons  (Greek,  penelops}.  The  song  of  the 
dying  swan  was  a  belief  of  the  Greeks.  The  raven  was  the  bird  of  augury 
and  had  mysterious  knowledge.  The  cranes  fought  the  pygmies  and 
swallowed  stones  for  ballast.  The  young  storks  fed  their  aged  parents. 
The  sisken  foresees  the  winter  and  snowstorms.  Mr.  Rogers  has  no  need 
to  discuss  the  yet  more  extravagant  stories  of  the  phoenix,  sirens,  harpies, 
etc.  Plutarch  (De  Is.  and  Os.  LXXI)  tells  us  how  the  Greeks  regarded 
birds  and  other  animals  in  relation  to  the  gods  ;  he  says  that  while  they  did 
not,  like  the  Egyptians,  worship  animals,  "  they  said  and  believed  rightly 
that  the  dove  was  the  sacred  animal  of  Aphrodite,  the  raven  of  Apollo, 
the  dog  of  Artemis,  and  so  on."  (Possibly  Aristophanes'  comedy  did  not 
win  the  prize,  because  the  audience  saw  little  humour  in  exaggerating  the 
powers  which  they  really  believed  the  birds  to  have.  To  the  Greeks 
the  birds  were  greater  and  the  gods  smaller  than  we  ourselves  picture  them. 
Ruskin's  translation  of  Od.  V.  67,!  the  seabirds  which  "  have  care  of  the 
works  of  the  sea,"  seems  much  more  likely  to  be  correct  than  the  accepted 
version  that  the  birds  live  by  diving  and  fishing.  Consider  how  the  Greeks 
would  regard  the  birds  that  flew  round  and  over  their  ships  or  fishing-nets 
and  over  the  waves  and  rocks,  where  the  sea-gods  lay  beneath — and  compare 
//.  II,  614.)! 

*  See  Theoc.  VII,  57,  and  what  the  Scholiast  says.  As  to  the  subject  generally 
see  the  references  given  by  Mr.  Rogers  in  The  Birils  of  A  ristophanes 

t  Modern  Painters,  IV,  XIII,  17 

}  A  few  days  after  writing  the  above  1  was  walking  along  the  sea-beach  with  friends, 
and  we  came  to  a  man  and  boy  who  were  drawing  in  a  net.  It  was  a  beautifully  clear  day, 
and  no  seagull  or  other  bird  could  be  seen  anywhere.  1  pointed  this  out  to  my  friends, 
and  said,  "  You'll  see  the  patrol-bird  arrive  presently."  In  a  few  minutes  a  gull  appeared 
from  nowhere,  flew  round  the  net,  and  then,  as  though  the  business  was  unimportant, 
flew  away.  The  net  when  drawn  in  was  empty  !  This  is  how  the  bird  probably  appeared 
to  the  Greeks.  When  the  net  brought  in  a  haul,  and  the  birds  clamoured  round  it  for 
theirjsbare,  how  very  reasonable  would  this  again  appear  to  the  Greeks. 


MYERS  371 

All  that  has  been  said  about  the  Greeks  in  this  and  previous  notes  is 
intended,  not  so  much  to  exhibit  the  character  of  that  nation  —  a  matter 
which  does  not  greatly  concern  me  —  but  fpr  other  reasons.  In  one  instance 
the  intention  was  to  indicate  how  vast  a  gulf  exists  between  Christianity 
and  the  ancient  world.  Many  classical  enthusiasts  do  not  seem  to  realize 
this,  and  a  definitely  pagan  tendency  is  very  apparent  in  their  habits  of 
thought. 

But  the  main  object  of  pointing  out  the  inferior  state  of  civilization 
among  the  Greeks,  their  non-moral  character  in  certain  respects,  their 
ignorance  and  superstition,  and  their  low  standard  of  morality  generally, 
has  to  do  with  the  important  question  of  interpreting  Greek  literature  and 
philosophy.  It  would  matter  very  little  that  the  enthusiast  should  picture 
the  Greeks  as  a  race  of  saints  and  demigods,  if  there  were  no  beautiful  and 
valuable  literature  to  be  coloured  and  falsified  by  reason  of  such  views. 
It  is  only  by  realizing  the  actual  life  and  thought  of  this  primitive  race  that 
we  can  understand  their  language,  that  is  to  say,  we  can  learn  what  meanings 
should  be  attached  to  the  words  they  use.  Only  thus  can  we  interpret 
their  literature.  We  have  already  had  two  simple  illustrations  of  this. 
In  one  case  what  appears  to  be  a  poetic  fancy  in  Theocritus,  when  the 
voyager  hopes  the  halcyons  will  calm  the  sea  for  him,  is  seen  to  be  a  wish 
that  the  birds  will  actually  exercise  the  power  that  they  possess.  The  other 
instance  appears  on  page  294.  But  much  more  important  is  it  that,  in 
reading  words  of  knowledge  such  as  references  to  the  starry  heavens  or 
the  constitution  of  matter,  or  mental  or  moral  phenomena,  we  should  not 
attribute  to  the  Greek  writer  conceptions  far  larger  and  higher  than  he 
had  in  his  mind.  To  amplify  what  I  have  said  in  a  previous  note,  let 
us  take  the  words  in  Plato,  Aristotle  or,  say,  Euripides  which  are  translated 
by  such  English  words  as  "  morality,"  "  purity,"  "  virtue,"  "  honour," 
"religion,"  etc.  It  is  clear  that  the  original  Greek  expressions  cannot 
signify,  for  instance,  either  purity  as  we  know  it,  or  even  abstention  from 
unnatural  vice  or  from  infanticide.*  We  are,  therefore,  mistranslating 
when  we  use  such  English  words  (because  they  are  the  nearest  equivalent 
to  the  Greek  expressions),  and  this  fact  needs  to  be  steadily  borne  in  mind. 
Again  when  interpreting,  say,  a  Greek  play,  it  is  necessary  to  bear  in  mind, 
not  only  the  supposed  character  of  the  dramatist,  but  also  the  actual,  known 
character  of  the  audience  to  whom  the  play  was  addressed.  I  now  propose 
to  give  an  illustration  which  will  bring  me  on  dangerous  ground. 

Is  it  reasonable  to  ask  if  the  Athenians,  some  few  of  whose  character- 
istics have  been  outlined  in  these  notes,  would  have  flocked  to  hear,  and 
have  greatly  enjoyed,  a  play  replete  with  high  moral  teaching,  and  containing 
hymns  that  might  have  come  out  of  a  Church  Hymnal  ?  Now  the  Baccbae 
of  Euripides,  one  of  the  most  popular  of  Greek  plays,  and  the  Hippolytus 
of  the  same  dramatist,  have  been  translated  by  one  great  Greek  scholar, 
Professor  Gilbert  Murray,  in  a  manner  that  (at  any  rate,  as  regards  the 
Bacchae]  received  the  "  hearty  admiration  and  approval  "  of  another  great 
Greek  scholar,  Dr.  Verrall.  In  this  version,  one  after  another  of  the  debased 
Greek  gods  is  called  "  God."  We  also  find  such  expressions  as  (note  the 
capitals)  "  God's  grace,"  "  Virgin  of  God,"  "  Babe  of  God,"  "God's  son," 
and  even  "  God's  true  son  "  (who  is  Dionysus  or  Bacchus),  "  Spirit  of  God," 
"  Child  of  the  Highest,"  "  Heaven,"  "  Purity,"  "  Saints  "  (who  are  the 
Maenads  1),  "  righteous,"  "  divine,"  "  holy,"  and  so  on. 


*  See  also  as  to  the  so-called  "  purification  rites  "  in  the  mysteries,  p.  374 


372  MYERS 

Professor  Murray  is  put  in  a  difficulty  when  two  or  more  gods  are 
referred  to.  In  some  cases  he  becomes  illogical  (and  reminds  us  of  the 
Kaiser),  as  when  Dionysus  has  to  say  "  God  and  me."  In  others  he  has 
to  use  the  Greek  name  for  one  god,  and  then  the  words  sound  blasphemous, 
as  when  he  speaks  of  Dionysus  who  was  "  born  from  the  thigh  of  Zeus 
and  now  is  God."  These  instances  are  taken  quite  at  random  and  there 
must  be  many  others. 

Take  the  following  two  lines  as  a  short  illustration  of  Professor  Murray's 
version : 

Where  a  voice  of  living  waters  never  ceaseth 
In  God's  quiet  garden  by  the  sea. 

The  original  reads  :  "  Where  the  ambrosial  fountains  stream  forth  by 
the  couches  of  the  palaces  of  Zeus,"  or,  to  give  them  a  more  musical  turn, 
Mr.  A.  S.  Way's  version  is : 

Where  the  fountains  ambrosial  sunward  are  leaping 
By  the  couches  where  Zeus  in  his  halls  lieth  sleeping. 

In  Professor  Murray's  two  lines  Zeus  becomes  "  God,"  "  living  waters  " 
is  taken  from  the  Song  of  Solomon,  and  "  God's  quiet  garden "  from 
Isaiah  and  Ezekiel.  Such  expressions,  with  their  tender  and  beautiful 
associations,  do  not  in  the  least  convey  the  sense  of  the  original. 
Used  to  describe  the  palace  of  a  vicious,  barbaric  deity,  they 
are  a  mistranslation.  Also  every  one  of  the  expressions  referred 
to  above  is,  wherever  used,  another  mistranslation  (although  some 
may  be  necessitated  by  the  limitation  of  language).  Again  there  are  other 
more  pronounced  mistranslations,  some  of  which  are  pointed  out  by 
Verrall  (Bacchants  of  Euripides}.  Thus  where  the  very  old  man  Cadmus, 
setting  out  on  an  unusual  journey,  merely  says  to  his  ancient  comrade, 
"We  have  pleasantly  forgotten  that  we  are  old"  (Bacchae  184-9). 
Professor  Murray  interpolates  a  stage  direction,  "  A  mysterious  strength 
and  exaltation  "  (from  the  god  Dionysus)  "  enters  into  him  " — and  he  alters 
the  words  of  Cadmus  to  conform  with  the  miracle  : 

Sweetly    and    forgetfully 
The  dim  years  fall  from  off  me  ! 

Here,  therefore,  we  find  an  important  episode  deliberately  introduced 
into  the  play. 

Take  another  instance  which  Verrall  does  not  mention.  In  the  very 
enthusiastic  "Introductory  Essay,"  Professor  Murray  tells  us  that  Euripides 
longed  to  escape  from  the  bad,  hard,  irreligious  Athenians*  of  that  day, 
and  proceeds  as  follows : 

"  What  else  is  wisdom  ?  "  he  asks,  in  a  marvellous  passage  : — 

What  else  is  wisdom  ?     What  of  man's  endeavour 
Or  God's  high  grace  so  lovely  and  so  great  ? 
To  stand  from  fear  set  free,  to  breathe  and  wait  5 
To  hold  a  hand  uplifted  over  Hate ; 

And  shall  not  loveliness  be  loved  for  ever  ? 

*  The  same  pious  Athenians  who  sc  enjjyed  the  Bacchae! 


MYERS  373 

There  is  nothing  here,  nor  in  the  translation  that  follows,  to  indicate 
that  there  has  been  any  interference  with  the  text.  It  is  only  upon  turning 
to  the  notes  at  the  end  of  the  translation  (which  the  average  reader  would 
hardly  study)  that  we  find  the  third  line  is  "  practically  interpolated." 
He  gives  reasons  for  this  that  are  not  easy  to  follow,  and  says  "  If  I  am 
wrong,  the  refrain  is  probably  a  mere  cry  for  revenge  ;  "  I  add  that  the  latter 
is  the  generally  accepted  meaning,  and  the  only  meaning  I  can  see  in  the 
original  Greek. 

Now  Professor  Murray's  object  in  all  this  is  to  convey  in  words  that  appeal 
to  our  minds  his  conception  of  the  devout,  religious  and,  therefore,  highly 
moral  attitude  of,  not  only  Euripides,  but  also  his  Athenian  audience.  The 
attitude  of  mind  must  be  that  of  the  audience,  as  well  as  the  dramatist, 
because  none  but  devout,  religious  people  go  to  a  "  Service  of  Song," 
and,  as  stated  above,  the  Bacchae  was  a  very  popular  play  among  the  Greeks. 
If,  however,  Professor  Murray  thought  that,  by  colouring,  altering,  and 
adding  to  the  play,  he  gave  a  more  correct  impression  of  it  as  it  appeared 
to  the  Greeks,  he  was  perfectly  at  liberty  with  that  object  to  mistranslate 
as  much  as  he  pleased— provided  he  told  his  readers  and  hearers  that  they 
were  not  reading  or  bearing  the  words  that  Euripides  wrote. 

Has  he  told  them  this  ?  The  book  is  entitled  "  Euripides  translated 
into  English  rhyming  verse."  In  the  Preface  he  also  begins  by  telling  us 
definitely  that  it  is  a  translation  ;  later  on  he  says  :  "  As  to  the  method 
of  this  translation  .  .  my  aim  has  been  to  build  up  something  as  like  the 
original  as  I  possibly  could,  in  form  and  what  one  calls  '  Spirit.'  To 
do  this,  the  first  thing  needed  was  a  work  of  painstaking  scholarship,  a  work 
in  which  there  should  be  no  neglect  of  the  letter  in  an  attempt  to  snatch  at 
the  spirit."  He  then  goes  on  to  tell  us  that  "  The  remaining  task  "  was  to 
reproduce  the  poetry  of  the  original  and  (here  is  the  only  admission  that  he 
has  varied  from  the  text)  he  'has  often  changed  metaphors,  altered  the  shapes 

of  sentences,  and  the  like On  one   occasion   he  has  even  omitted 

a  line  and  a  half  '  (because  unnecessary)  and  he  says,  he  '  has  added,  of  course 
by  conjecture,  a  few  stage  directions.'  Let  the  non-classical  reader  look 
back  over  what  has  been  said  above  and  ask  himself  whether  such  words — 
however  carefully  studied — would  have  given  him  the  least  impression  of 
what  this  "  translation  "  actually  amounts  to. 

Without  entering  into  any  long  discussion  as  to  the  so  called  "  purity 
choruses  "  of  the  Bacchae,  let  us  simply  ask  the  question,  Does  this  pious, 
fervently-religious  version  represent  the  actual  play  that  the  cruel,  lying, 
treacherous  and  unspeakably  sensual  Greeks  flocked  to  see  and  enjoy  ? 
Further  comes  a  much  more  important  question,  Would  such  a  "  trans- 
lation," put  before  English  readers,  or  staged  before  an  English  audience, 
give  them  a  true  or  a  false  idea  of  the  character  of  the  Greeks  ? 

I  might  compare  with  this  Ruskin's  view  of  the  Greek  character 
(The  Crown  of  Wild  Olive.}  This  is  what  he  says  the  Greeks  won  from 
their  lives  :  "  Free-heartedness,  and  graciousness,  and  undisturbed 
trust,  and  requited  love,  and  the  sight  of  the  peace  of  others,  and  the  ministry 
to  their  pain."  (Italics  mine.)  This  is  truly  amazing  !  I  am  tempted 
to  go  back  again  to  Professor  Murray's  Euripides  (p.  Ixiii)  and  quote  a  like 
passage : 


374  MYERS 

"Love  thou  the  day  and  the  night,"  he  (Euripides)  says  in  another  place. 
''  It  is  only  so  that  Life  can  be  made  what  it  really  is,  a  Joy  :  by  loving 
not  only  your  neighbour  —  he  is  so  vivid  an  element  in  life  that,  unless  you  do 
love  him,  he  will  spoil  all  the  rest  !  —  but  the  actual  details  and  processes  of 
living,  etc.,  etc." 

The  italics  are  again  mine  —  but  here  it  will  be  seen  that  Euripides 
has,  as  a  matter  of  course,  anticipated  the  great  evangel  of  Christ  !  He  has 
even  gone  a  step  further  —  but  I  must  leave  Professor  Murray  to  his  love 
of  the  "  details  and  processes  of  living,"  whatever  that  may  mean. 

Finally,  in  this  extraordinary  essay,  I  come  to  something  which  is 
absolutely  repulsive.  I  must  first  briefly  premise  that  the  Dionysiac 
mystery  cult  was  not  sectarian.  It  was  orthodox,  believing  in  the  plurality 
and  the  profligacy  of  the  gods.  Its  adherents  had  no  more  idea  of  morality 
or  purity  than  other  Greeks.  Its  rites  were  indecent.  The  so-called 
"purification  rites,"  including  regulations  regarding  continence,  were  simply 
training  rules  preparatory  to  their  hideous  orgies.  The  essential  rite  of  the 
cult  was  practised  by  the  Maenads  or  Bacchantes.  They  tore  to  pieces  live 
animals  (and  at  one  time  human  beings)  and  devoured  their  raw,  quivering 
flesh.  As  stated  above,  these  horrible  women  are  Professor  Murray's 
"  Saints."  He  now  proceeds  to  draw  an  analogy  between  their  loathsome  god 
Dionysus  and  Jesus  Christ!  Thus  Dionysus  is  born  of  God  (Zeus)  and  a 
human  mother.  He  is  the  "  twice-born'"  —  having  been  hidden  in  Zffus's 
thigh  after  birth  !  He  "  comes  to  bis  own  people  of  Thebes,  and  —  bis 
own  receive  him  not."  Again  "  It  seemed  to  Euripides  in  that  favourite 
metaphor  of  his,  which  was  always  a  little  more  than  a  metaphor,  that  a 
God  had  been  rejected  by  the  world  that  he  came  from."  Dionysus  "gives 
bis  Wine  to  all  men.  .  .  .It  is  a  mysticism  which  includes  democracy,  as  it 
includes  the  love  of  your  neighbour."  Dionysus  "  has  given  man  Wine, 
which  is  his  Blood  and  a  religious  symbol."  '  In  the  translation  Dionysus 
is  called  "  God's  son  "  and  even  "  God's  true  son."  Reading  this  and 
such  statements  as  Miss  Jane  Harrison's  (see  p.  292,  n.),  one  stands  amazed. 
Apparently  this  fanatical  enthusiasm  destroys  the  critical  faculties,  so  that 
the  enthusiast  becomes  utterly  incapable  of  appreciating  the  beauty  and 
value  of  Our  Lord's  ethical  teaching  and  its  exemplification  in  His  life. 

For  my  last  illustration  of  how  enthusiasm  affects  our  leading  classical 
authorities  (and,  therefore,  leads  to  perversion  of  the  truth]  I  take  Mr.  A.  E. 
Zimmern's  Greek  Commonwealth.  This,  like  Mr.  Livingstone's  work,  is  a 
very  excellent  book,  which  should  be  in  all  libraries. 

ely  endorses  the  well-known  statement 
which  is  as  follows  :  —  "  The  average 

ability  of  the  Athenian  race  is,  on  the_  lowest  possible  estimate,  very  nearly 
two  grades  higher  than  our  own,  that  is,  about  as  much  as  our  race  is  above 
that  of  the  African  Negro."  (The  italics  are  mine.}  Here  I  have  happened 
by  chancet  upon  an  excellent  illustration  of  classical  enthusiasm,  which  is 
worth  while  dwelling  upon  at  some  length.  In  the  first  place  Galton's 
statement  is  perhaps  the  most  absurd  utterance  ever  made  by  an  important 
thinker  ;  in  the  second  place  it  appears  to  have  been  accepted  by  English  and 
European  authorities  for  nearly  half  a  century. 

t  It  is  necessary  to  emphasize  this,  lest  the  reader  should  think  that   these   illus 


Mr.  Zimmern  quotes  and  definit 
Gallon's  Hereditary  Genius  (1869), 


trations  are   exceptional   and    the   result   of  prolonged   research.      Actually   I  had   no 
began  the  many  notes  to  this  book,  and  those  notes 

iplj 
Murray's  and  Mr.  Zimmern's,  to  illustrate  my  thesis.      I  might  have  chosen  far  more 


memoranda  or  other  material  when  I  began  the  many  notes  to  tms  DOOK,  and  tnose  n 
all  completed  in  ten  months.  For  this  note  I  simply  took  two  books,  Prole 
ly's  and  Mr.  Zimmern's,  to  illustrate  my  thesis.  I 

"enthusiastic  "  works  than  Mr.  Zimmem's  excellent  book. 


MYERS  375 

Galton  bases  his  argument  on  the  number  of  great  men  produced  by 
a  nation  in  proportion  to  its  population.  He  states  that  between  530  and 
430  B.C.  the  Athenian  Greeks  produced  fourteen  highly  illustrious  men  : — 
Themistocles,  Miltiades,  Aristides,  Cimon,  and  Pericles  (statesmen  and 
commanders),  Thucydides,  Socrates,  Xenophon,  and  Plato  (literary  and 
scientific  men),  Aeschylus,  Sophocles,  Euripides,  and  Aristophanes 
(poets),  and  Pheidias  (sculptor).  I  take  the  minor  objections  to  his  state- 
ment first. 

He  estimates  the  population  of  free-born  Greeks  in  Attica  at  90,000. 
In  this  instance  he  was  misled  by  the  authorities  of  his  time  and  is  not  to 
blame  ;  but  I  take  Mr.  Zimmern's  own  figures,  as  be  endorses  Gallon's  statement. 
The  90,000  should  have  been,  according  to  Mr.  Zimmern's  more  correct 
figures,  180,000  to  200,000.  This  alone  cuts  down  Gallon's  estimate  of 
the  "  average  ability  "  of  the  Greeks  to  at  least  one-half.  Galton  also  excludes 
the  resident  aliens  who,  according  to  him,  numbered  40,000,  but  according 
to  Mr.  Zimmern  96,000.  Yet  both  these  and  the  outside  aliens  must  be 
considered,  for  there  were  intermarriages.  Themistocles  and  Cimon  had 
alien  mothers,  Thucydides  also  probably  had  an  alien  mother,  or  at  any 
rate  was  partly  of  Thracian  descent,  and  there  would  be  some  ground  for 
the  charge  of  usurping  citizenship  repeatedly  made  by  Cleon  against  Aris- 
tophanes. Galton  also  takes  no  account  of  the  slaves,  the  number  of  whom 
he  estimates  at  400,000,  but  Zimmern  at  about  112,000.  These  cannot 
be  entirely  omitted  when  we  consider  the  life  of  the  Greek  women  and  the 
habits  of  the  men.  It  should  be  remembered  that  the  slaves  were  often 
Greeks  of  other  States  and  also  by  reason  of  the  practice  of  exposing  children 
some  would  be  Athenians  and  even  of  the  best  families  (Plato's  Laws,  930, 
deals  with  children  of  slaves  and  Greek  men  and  women).  However,  on  these 
figures,  it  will  be  seen  that  Gallon's  estimate  has  to  be  enormously  reduced. 

Next,  the  greatest  of  all  the  names  in  his  list,  Plato,  has  to  be  struck 
out.  There  can  be  no  reasonable  doubt  that  he  was  not  born  until  428  or 
427  B.C.  (This  appears  to  have  been  well  recognised  in  1869  and  it  is 
unaccountable  that  Galton  and  his  reviewers  should  not  have  known  it.J 
However,  there  is  some  evidence  that  he  was  born  in  430,  and  let  us  assume 
that  this  is  so.  But,  if  we  are  to  include  in  the  100  (or  rather  101)  years 
everyone  who  is  born  or  died  in  that  time,  we  are  actually  taking  a  period 
of  200,  not  100,  years,  and  doubling  the  proper  estimate  !  Besides  Plato, 
I  may  mention  that  Aristophanes  and  Xenophon  could  have  been  only 
about  fourteen  years  of  age  in  430,  Thucydides  had  not  then  begun  to  write, 
and  of  the  eighteen  plays  extant  of  Euripides  two  only  were  written  before 
430.  Here  again  is  another  enormous  reduction  of  Gallon's  estimate. 

Again  let  us  take  Gallon's  opinion  of  the  ability  of  these  fourteen  men. 
It  is  amazingly  high.  It  will  be  seen  lhat  there  are  only  two  grades  between 
ourselves  and  the  African  negro.  Again,  in  Gallon's  table,  "  eminent  men  " 
are  two  grades  above  "  the  mass  of  men  who  obtain  the  ordinary  prizes  of 
life."  He  now  places  the  whole  of  these  fourteen  Greeks  two  grades  above 
the  eminent  men  !  To  what  starry  height  he  means  to  raise  them,  il  is 
impossible  to  say,  for  the  whole  slatement  is  exceedingly  vague ;  but  he 
tells  us  thai  two  of  the  fourteen,  Socrates  and  Pheidias,  stand  alone  as 
the  greatest  men  that  ever  lived. 

It  is  clear  then  that  the  fourteen  Greeks  have  to  be  placed  at  a  tremen- 
dous height  in  our  estimalion.  It  is  impossible  here  to  take  each  man  and 


376  MYERS 

discuss  his  ability,  but  let  us  inquire  what  qualifications  Galton  had  as 
a  critic.  We  turn  to  his  list  of  great  modern  English  and  European  literary 
men.  Although  he  goes  back  as  far  as  the  Fifteenth  Century  and  his  list 
comprises  only  fifty-two  writers,  he  finds  room  among  them  for  such  names 
as  John  Aikin  and  Maria  Edgeworth  !  Again  his  ten  great  English  poets  are 
Milton,  Byron,  Chaucer,  Milman,  Cowper,  Dibdin  (!),  Dryden,  Hook, 
Coleridge,  and  Wordsworth.  (Some  names  would  no  doubt  be  omitted 
because  they  did  not  throw  light  on  questions  of  heredity,  but  these  lists 
in  any  case  are  highly  absurd.) 

We  need  not  greatly  prolong  this  part  of  the  discussion.  We  might 
ask,  however,  what  ground  had  Galton,  for  example,  to  place  such  men  as 
Miltiades,  Aristides,  or  Cimon  even  on  an  equality  with,  say,  Caesar,  Alex- 
ander, or  Marlborough.  How  can  he  class  Xenophon  as  even  equal  to 
our  great  writers  ?  It  is  the  interesting/acM  he  tells  us  of,  not  his  literary 
ability,  that  makes  this  somewhat  monotonous  writer  so  very  interesting. 
(The  important  point  to  remember  is  that  Greek  literature  has  a  very  special 
interest  and  value  for  us,  quite  apart  from  its  great  intrinsic  literary  value. 
Taking  De  Quincey's  classification,  see  p.  227,  it  is  both  "  literature  of 
power  "  and  "  literature  of  knowledge.") 

Now  take  another  point  which  I  might  illustrate  from  Gallon's  own 
pages.  He  tells  us  (in  another  connection)  that  about  sixty  years  before 
the  time  he  is  writing  (1869)  there  were  Senior  Wranglers  in  Cambridge 
who  also  obtained  first  classes  in  the  Classical  Tripos — and  even  at  a  later 
date  men  could  take  high  rank  in  both  departments.  Is  it  then  to  be 
argued  that  the  earlier  men  were  the  greater  ?  Not  so,  but,  as  Galton  says, 
knowledge  had  become  so  far  advanced  that  it  was  no  longer  possible  for 
a  man  to  gain  such  a  distinction  in  more  than  one  of  the  two  subjects. 
Here  we  have  the  point — the  world  of  knowledge  and  activity  is  infinitely 
wider  to-day  than  when  it  formed  the  subject  of  Greek  speculation.  Their 
great  men  were  very  original  thinkers — but  in  a  very  few  subjects.  More- 
over, they  had  no  books  to  read,  no  foreign  languages  to  learn.  Even 
their  social  and  political  life  was  far  less  complicated  and  involved  than 
our  own. 


Again,  where  we  speak  of  "  average  ability,"  it  is  not  correct  to  compare 
large  populous  countries,  where  great  talents  are  often  submerged  (see 
Gray's  "  Elegy  ")  with  smaller  communities  that  afford  far  ampler  scope. 
Take  my  own  State,  South  Australia,  with  its  huge  territory  and  a  popu- 
lation of  under  half  a  million,  less  than  that  of  one  of  the  larger  English 
towns.  We  have  our  Premier,  Government,  Parliament,  Town  Councils, 
Heads  of  Departments,  University,  schools,  judges,  lawyers,  journalists 
and  literary  men,  financiers,  merchants,  men  who  design  and  construct 
railways,  irrigation  and  other  important  works,  mining  men,  heads  of 
institutions  and  so  on — which  means  a  large  number  of  men  of  ability 
and  resource  in  all  departments  of  life.  If  we  compare  ourselves  with  an 
average  half-million  of  Englishmen,  how  great  our  superiority  would 
apparently  be  !  And  yet,  we  know  that  we  are  not  actually  more  capable  — 
our  ability  has  been  simply  brought  into  play.  Mr.  W.  M.  Hughes  might 
himself  have  been  a  "  flower  to  blush  unseen,"  if  he  had  not  emigrated  to 
Australia. 


MYERS  377 

We  have  so  far  dealt  with  minor  matters,  which  have  nevertheless 
reduced  Gallon's  arithmetical  estimate  by,  say,  75  per  cent,  at  the  very 
least.  Let  us  now  take  the  one  great  misrepresentation  that  must  have 
immediately  flashed  upon  the  minds  of  all  reviewers  of  Gallon's  book, 
if  they  had  not  been  blinded  by  classical  enthusiasm.  It  is  truly  remark- 
able that  not  a  single  one  of  them  seems  to  have  called  attention  to  the 
obvious  fact  that  Gallon  takes  the  one  great  Athenian  period,  as  though 
it  were  an  average  period  in  their  history  !  From  Homer's  time  to  the  Fifth 
Century,  B.C.,  would  probably  be  about  as  long  as  from  the  Norman 
Conquest  to  the  present  time,  or  from  King  Alfred  to  Shakespeare — and 
there  are  again  the  many  centuries  that  followed.  Is  the  "  average  ability  " 
of  the  Greeks  during  hundreds  or  ihousands  of  years  lo  be  eslimaled  on 
their  one  mosl  brillianl  period  ?  The  queslion  needs  no  discussion.  Gallon 
mighl  in  ihe  same  way  have  taken  our  Elizabethan  period  when  London 
had  a  population  of  150,000,  and  Great  Britain  of  about  three  millions  — 
and  proved  that  our  own  ancestors  were  as  far  above  ourselves  as  we  are 
above  ihe  negro.* 

Mr.  C.  T.  Whiting,  of  ihe  Adelaide  Public  Library,  knowing  how 
my  lime  was  limiled,  very  kindly  volunleered  lo  make  an  extensive  search 
for  references  to  Gallon's  statement  in  such  of  the  lileralure  of  the  time  as 
is  available  in  Adelaide.  In  addition  to  a  number  of  books,  he  has  searched 
through  thirty-eight  journals.  He  finds  reviews  of  Gallon's  book  in  ihe 
following : — Athenaeum,  British  Quarterly,  Saturday  Review,  Edinburgh 
Review,  Fortnightly  Review,  Chambers'  Journal,  Journal  of  Anthropology, 
Atlantic  Monthly,  Frazer's  Magazine,  Nature,  Times,  and  Westminster  Review. 
The  firsl  seven  do  nol  refer  at  all  to  the  stalemenl — ihey  apparenlly  accepl 
il  as  a  malter  of  course.  Of  the  last  five  Frazer's  mentions  the  stalemenl, 
and  says  vaguely  lhal  the  chapter  in  which  it  is  contained  "  offers  several 
vulnerable  points  to  the  crilic ;  "  ihe  Westminster^  slales  ihe  fad  withoul 
taking  any  exception  to  it ;  the  Atlantic  Monthly  raises  the  question  whether 
Miltiades,  Aristides,  Cimon,  and  Xenophon  were  so  very  illustrious,  and 
enters  into  an  argumenl  on  Gallon's  figures  ;  ihe  Times  considers  lhat  we 
have  had  other  men  in  different  fields  of  human  effort,  who  could  be  named 
with  Socrates  and  Pheidias,  and  lays  stress  on  the  enormous  increase  of 
knowledge  and  activity  in  modern  life  ;  in  Nature  A.  R.  Wallace,  misreading 
Gallon  as  referring  only  lo  ihe  age  of  Periclest  admils  ihe  Irulh  of  the 
slalement  as  applied  to  the  Athenians  of  thai  lime.  None  of  ihem  refer 
lo  ihe  facl  that  Gallon  lakes  ihe  mosl  brilliant  period  of  Greek  history 
as  a  normal  period — and  the  argumenls,  laken  logelher,  amounl  to  very 
little.  As  regards  the  twenly-six  journals  which  appear  lo  have  laken 
no  nolice  of  so  slartling  a  stalemenl  in  an  important  book,  the  fact  seems 


*  The  whole  argument  seems  to  have  little  foundation.  Are  we  to  assume,  for 
example,  that  the  "  average  ability  "  of  the  Greeks  before  and  after  their  great  period, 
or  of  the  English  before  and  after  the  Elizabethan  age,  was  enormously  inferior  because 
the  proportion  of  very  illustrious  men  was  so  much  less  ?  Why  should  not  the  average 
be  higher,  the  ability  (through  intermarriage)  being  more  equally  distributed  ? 

t  If  Gallon  had  referred  only  to  the  Athenians  of  the  great  period,  as  Wallace 
imagined,  the  statement  would  have  been  even  more  absurd.  It  would  then  mean  that 
an  African  tribe  of  blacks  might  suddenly  become  as  intelligent  as  ourselves,  continue 
so  for  two  generations,  and  then  relapse  at  once  into  their  old  barbarism.  Yet  Dr. 
Verrall  went  some  distance  in  this  direction,  for  he  says  the  Athenians  of  the  great  period 
"  had  plainly  an  immense  superiority  of  mind  in  comparison  with  their  predecessors." 
(  The  Bacchants  of  Euripides,  p.  168). 


378  MYERS 

to  indicate  that  to  the  writers  for  those  journals  the  statement  contained 
nothing  of  a  remarkable  or  dubious  character  !  (Even  Punch  missed  the 
chance  of  an  amusing  cartoon  !) 

It  may  be  objected  that  the  reviewers  of  the  book  would  not  be  classical 
men.  But  first  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  writers  of  1869  would 
practically  all  have  had  a  classical  education  and  secondly  it  needed  no 
special  classical  knowledge  to  see  the  absurdity  of  the  statement.  Every 
one  without  exception  would  know,  for  example,  that  the  period  taken 
by  Galton  was  the  one  great  Greek  period.  The  statement  must  also  have 
excited  interest  on  all  sides.  I  myself  remember  how  it  was  talked  of  when 
I  was  a  boy  in  Melbourne,  and  I  have  heard  it  repeated  as  an  acknowledged 
fact  up  to  the  present  time — and,  therefore,  comment  would  have  been 
expected  in  every  direction.  But  apparently  the  statement  was  generally 
accepted.  Mr.  Whiting  finds  that  in  1892,  twenty-three  years  after, 
Galton  calmly  repeated  the  statement  word  for  word,  without  reference 
to  any  criticisms.  Again  we  find  Mr.  Zimmern  accepting  it  as  a  matter  of 
course  in  his  second  edition  in  1915.  As  it  was  in  his  first  edition,  which 
would  be  reviewed  in  the  classical  journals,  it  must  presumably  have  met 
with  no  adverse  comments. 

But  we  have  to  go  even  further  than  this.  Galton's  was  one  of  those 
important  books  that  are  studied  by  all  Europe.  Seeing  that  he  makes 
no  mention  of  adverse  criticism  in  his  second  edition,  and  Mr.  Zimmern 

sees  no  reason  to  qualify  the  statement,  it  is  tair  to  assume  that  no  serious 

objection  has  been  made  in  England  or  Europe  during  nearly  half  a  century. 

So  amazingly  does  classical  enthusiasm  pervade  the  thought  of  the  world  ! 

T  do  not  think  I  need  say  anything  further  on  this  subject.* 

Mr.  Zimmern  heads  one  of  his  chapters  "  Happinc-  ?  or  the  Rule  of 
Love"  the  "  Rule  of  Love  "  being  his  trnnslation  of  tvSatnovla  I  This 
chapter  is  occupied  exclusively  by  the  famous  Funeral  Speech  of  Pericles. 
I  invite  the  reader  to  look  through  that  terribly  hard  speech,  and  see 
how  much  love  it  contains  !  Again  to  another  chapter  the  heading  is 
"  Gentleness  or  the  Rule  of  Relisrion,"  followed  by  two  quotations  which 
are  evidently  intended  to  be  read  as  parallel  passages  ; 

irrepyot   5e  u*   ffuxppjffvva, 

biupri/j.a.  <foAAi<TToi'  Cewj'.f —  Eur.   Medea,   638. 

Give  unto  us  made  lowly  wise 

The  spirit  of  self-sacrifice. — Wordsworth. 

*  I  may  add,  however,  one  personal  remark.  I  am  quite  well  aware — and  my 
friends  persistently  and  painfully  impress  the  fact  upon  me — that  this  book  will  be  re- 
viewed by  gentlemen  who  have  been  imbued  from  youth  with  even  greater  enthusiasm, 
seeing  that  the  tendency  has  grown  stronger  and  stronger  since  that  time.  Those  re- 
viewers will  probably  feel  shocked  that  the  naked  facts  should  be  set  before  the  general 
public.  I  can  quite  understand  this  feeling,  but  I  do  not  sympathize  with  it.  Trutb 
comes  first,  and  I  have  no  sympathy  with  the  feminine  view  of  truth  (see  p.  343),  which 
is  the  same  as  the  Jesuitical  view.  I  do,  however,  sympathize  with  them  in  one  respect, 
that  the  truth  should  be  stated  at  an  unfortunate  time,  when  the  beautiful  Greek  language 
and  its  glorious  literature  seem  Hkely  to  be  put  on  a  back  shelf  with  Hebrew  and  Sanskrit. 
It  will  be  a  sad  thing  if  this  should  happen  (I  would  much  prefer  to  sacrifice  the  inferior 
Latin,  in  spite  of  the  special  reasons  for  its  study),  but  the  first  and  last  word  always  is — 
Truth. 

t  "  May  moderation  befriend  me,  the  finest  gift  of  the  gods." 


MYERS  379 

Apart  from  the  question  whether  the  proud  Greek  could  ever  by  any 
possibility  have  become  "  lowly  wise,"  the  word  ffuxppoavvii  "  temper- 
ance," "  moderation  " — or  perhaps  better  still,  "  commonsense  "- 
becomes  not  only  a  "  Rule  of  Religion  "  but  even  the  highest  conception 
of  Christianity,  self-sacrifice.  It  is  very  extraordinary.  Imagine  the 
Greeks  -  as  we  know  them,  and  as  Mr.  Zimmern  knows  them- -having  the 
faintest  conception  of  what  we  mean  by  self-sacrifice  !  It  reminds  one 
very  much  ol  Hnmpty  Dumpty  in  Through  the  Looking  Glass  :  "  When  / 
use  a  word  "  (tu5a.ijj.ovia  or  autypofiivn)  "  it  means  just  what  I  choose  it 
to  mean — neither  more  nor  less." 

As  this  is  my  last  note  I  am  giving  myself  great  latitude,  but  I  must 
not  prolong  it  into  a  treatise.  I  shall,  as  briefly  as  I  can,  refer  to  only  one 
other  matter,  the  Greek  sense  of  beauty.  I  do  not  think  it  is  an  exaggera- 
tion to  say  that  we  are  given  to  believe  that  in  this  respect  the  Greeks  are 
exalted  high  as  gods  above  the  rest  of  mankind.  What  is  the  fact  ?  They 
saw  beauty  in  only  one  natural  object,  the  human  body.  In  a  land  of  clear 
skies,  wonderful  sunsets,  starry  nights,  remarkable  for  its  ranges  of  moun- 
tains and  extent  of  sea-coast,  they  were  (with  some  tiny  exceptions  not 
worth  mentioning)  absolutely  blind  to  any  beauty  in  inanimate  nature.  Nor 
did  any  bird  or  beast  or  insect,  tree  or  flower  appeal  to  them  to  any  appre- 
ciable extent  as  a  thing  of  beauty.  They  admired  only  what  was  useful 
or  added  to  their  comfort — the  laden  fruit  tree,  the  shady  grove,  the  clear 
spring,  the  soft  water-meadows. 

Various  explanations  have  been  given  for  the  Greek  failure  to  appreciate 
beauty  in  nature.  Ruskin's  theory  is  most  often  quoted,  that  the  Greeks 
were  so  familiar  with  beautiful  scenes  that  they  could  not  appreciate  them. 
In  the  first  place  he  forgot  that  it  was  not  always  the  bright  tourist-season 
in  Greece ;  they  had  their  dark  and  wintry  times.  In  the  second  place, 
I  have  lived  all  my  life  in  the  southern  part  of  Australia,  which  has  much 
the  same  climate  as  Greece,  and  I  do  not  think  there  are  any  greater  lovers 
of  nature  than  the  Australians. 

Is  not  the  love  of  nature,  as  it  came  later.*  also  higher  than  love  of  the 
human  form  (omitting  that  facial  expression  which  is  an  index  of  the  soul)  ? 
Our  ideals  of  human  beauty  appear  to  be  purely  relative  and  depend  on  our 
surroundings,  while  the  same  beauty  in  nature  appeals  to  the  most  diverse 
nations.  Take  for  example  the  Japanese  and  Dutch  artists  who  both  loved 
nature  much  as  we  do — yet  they  admired  very  different  types  of  the  human 
figure.  I  understand  that  the  Japanese,  originally  at  least,  regarded  with 
positive  disgust  our  tall  English  beauties. 

The  beauty  the  Greeks  saw  in  one  object  only,  the  human  body,  they 
reproduced  in  statues  which  have  never  been  equalled  in  grace  and  charm, 
and  are  the  admiration  of  the  world.  Their  pure  white  marble  statues 
and  temples  seem  to  be  always  present  in  our  minds  and  to  transfigure 

*  It  would  be  interesting  to  trace  the  earliest  references  to  love  of  Nature  They 
may,  perhaps,  be  found  in  the  Bible.  In  the  Song  of  Solomon  (which,  however,  in  its 
present  form  is  now  supposed  to  date  back  only  to  the  Fourth  Century,  B.C.,  and,  therefore 
not  to  be  by  Solomon)  we  have  the  spring-song  of  love,  with  flowers  and  budding  trees  and 
vines  and  the  singing  of  birds  (II,  10-13).  Professor  Naylor  also  reminds  me  of  our 
Lord's  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  "  Consider  the  lilies,  etc." 

1  repeat  here  what  I  say  in  the  Preface  that  Professor  Naylor  takes  no  responsibility 
for  any  of  the  views  I  express  in  my  notes  on  the  Greeks. 


38o  MYERS 

our  conceptions  of  the  Greeks.  We  unconsciously  picture  them  as  a 
race  of  glorious  men  and  beautiful  women  moving  in  a  city  of  marble.* 
We  find  ourselves  forgetting  what  we  know  of  their  character  and  habits — 
and  also  forgetting  the  fact  that  both  statues  and  temples  were  painted. 

With  the  disappearance  of  colour  through  the  effect  of  time,  the  flesh 
effect  has  disappeared  from  their  statues,  and  the  chaste  white  marble 
gives  an  idealized  and  spiritual  conception  of  the  utmost  purity.  As 
stated  before,  this  would  be  a  conception  quite  alien  to  the  Greek  mind, 
which  saw  no  beauty  in  physical  purity.  If,  when  we  stand  in  admiring 
awe  before  that  calm,  majestic  and  exceedingly  graceful  and  beautiful 
Venus  of  Milo,  we  imagine  her  as  the  Greeks  saw  her,  how  different  is  the 
picture  !  To  begin  with,  the  Greeks  had  little  sense  of  colour,  as  is  seen 
from  their  limited  colour-vocabulary.  For  example,  one  word  porpbureos 
was  used  for  dark-purple,  red,  rose,  sea-blue,  violet,  and  other  shades  even 
to  a  shimmery  white.  Their  colours  were  harsh,  glaring,  and  put  together 
in  shockingly  bad  taste  (from  our  point  of  view).  In  temples  and  sculpture 
reds  and  blues  were  the  main  colours  used.  In  the  Venus  of  Milo  we  must, 
therefore,  picture  the  hair  painted  red  or  red-brown,  the  lips  a  hard  red, 
eyebrows  black,  the  eyes  red  or  red-brown  with  black  pupils,  the  dress 
with  borders  and  patterns  of  crude  reds  and  greens  or  reds  and  blues.  As 
regards  the  flesh  surfaces,  we  know  they  were  wax-polished,  but  there 
is  no  literary  record  or  actual  trace  of  any  tinting  or  colouring.  The  effect 
of  the  white  marble  would  have  been  so  horrible  to  us  against  the  living 
eyes  and  face,  that  Mr.  Kaines  Smith  (being  one  of  our  enthusiasts)  suggests 
that  the  artist  "  might  quite  well  "  have  used  some  colouring  matter  for 
the  nude  parts  of  the  figure !  We  must  further  picture  the  statue 
standing  in  a  temple,  which  must  of  course  also  have  been  painted.  The 
structure  would  have  its  borders  generally  of  harsh  reds  and  blues,  and  the 
decorative  sculpture  of  the  pediments,  metopes  and  friezes  would  be  painted 
in  most  inconceivable  colours.  Thus  in  the  metope  relief  of  the  slaying 
of  the  Hydra  at  Olympia,  the  hydra  is  blue,  the  back  ground  red,  and  the  hair, 
lips,  and  eyes  of  Hercules  are  coloured.  'I  might  go  on  to  the  Elgin  marbles, 
the  greatest  sculptures  that  we  possess  in  the  world,  and  show  them  gorgeous 
in  bronze  and  colour.  (Armour,  horse-trappings,  etc.,  were  attached  to 
the  marble  in  bronze  or  other  metal.)  The  two  masterpieces  of  Pheidias, 
forty  and  sixty  feet  high  respectively,  which  have  not  survived  to  us,  were 
much  more  admired  by  the  Greeks  than  the  sculptures  of  the  Parthenon. 
These  were  in  barbaric  ivory  and  gold,  with  the  same  living  eyes,  red  lips, 
and  so  on.  The  fact  is  that  the  Greek,  "  builded  better  than  he  knew." 
He  unintentionally  produced  objects  whose  spiritual  beauty  he  was  incapable 
of  appreciating  and,  therefore,  he  gave  them  a  grosser  form  that  appealed 
to  his  own  primitive  sensual  nature. 

(Apart  from  this  the  Greek  sculptor  was  very  limited  by  the  paucity 
of  hi?  subjects.  How  tiresome  are  the  never-ending  Centaurs  and  Amazons!)! 

»  Their  actual  life  was  of  course  indescribably  squalid  and  filthy,  as  could  only  be 
expected  in  a  primitive  race. 

t  Even  as  regards  the  human  form  Greek  art  is  limited,  as  is  seen  in  the  Laocoon 
where  the  boys  are  simply  miniature  men.  (The  Laocoon,  although  of  very  late  date,  is 
nevertheless  Greek  with  all  the  traditions  of  the  art  behind  it.)  I  know  very  little  on  this 
subject,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  something  of  much  importance  yet  remains  to  be  dis- 
covered about  Greek  sculpture. 


MYERS  381 

A.S  regards  Greek  architecture,  its  ornament  is  a  question  of  sculpture, 
its  structure  is  the  result  of  intellect  combined  with  a  certain  amount  of 
design  due  to  their  artistic  sense  of  proportion.  The  Greeks  did  great 
service  to  humanity  in  working  out  the  principles  of  building — but,  there- 
after, there  was  no  scope  for  originality.  Apart  from  its  sculptural  ornament, 
nothing  more  monotonous  could  well  be  imagined  than  a  series  of  Greek 
temples,  all  of  the  same  type  and  subject  to  definite,  rigid  rules  of  measure- 
ment.* 

Finally  there  are  two  matters  I  am  bound  to  refer  to  in  connection  with 
these  rough  notes.  First,  in  merely  enumerating  the  salient  features 
of  a  nation's  character,  one  gives  no  picture  whatever  of  the  life  they  led. 
The  Greek  men  led  a  highly  intellectual,  artistic,  and  on  the  whole  a  very 
gay  life.  If  we  look  around  us  to-day,  we  shall  find  among  ourselves 
Greeks,  intellectual  men  who  are  moral  sceptics,  who  simply  do  not  under- 
stand that  moral  motives  exist,  who  do  no  act  in  their  lives  from  a  sense 
of  principle,  and  who  live  a  purely  material  life  (unless  perhaps  some  great 
crisis,  the  arrival  of  the  angel  of  Death  or  some  other  overwhelming  event, 
awakens  them  to  a  sense  of  higher  things).  We  can  see  something  like  a 
parallel  to  the  Greeks  in  the  gay,  immoral,  artistic  French  aristocracy  who 
lived  in  the  midst  of  a  starving  peasantry  before  the  Revolution — or  in  George 
Eliot's  fascinating  renaissance  story  in  Romola  of  the  young  Greek  Tito 
Melema.  A  man  may  be  cruel,  faithless  and  immoral,  and  yet  live  a  gay 
artistic  and  intellectual  life — but  it  is  not  such  a  life  as  would  have  appealed 
to  Myers  or  to  ourselves.  Secondly,  a  clear  knowledge  of  the  truth  about 
the  Greek  character  does  in  no  way  detract  from  the  miracle  of  their  litera- 
ture or  of  their  art.  It  adds  to  the  wonder  of  it  all.  (If  one  may  with  the 
utmost  reverence  make  another  comparison,  how  can  we  fully  appreciate 
the  wonder  and  beauty  of  Christ's  teaching,  if  we  forget  the  conditions 
of  the  time  ?)  To  find  most  beautiful  poetry,  fine  literature,  deep  philo- 
sophic thought,  amazing  grace  and  charm  in  art  emanating  from  this  primitive 
race  is  purely  astounding  in  itself.  And  it  needs  to  be  borne  in  mind  that 
even  the  men  who  took  part  in  Plato's  Symposium  lived  in  a  different  atmos- 
phere from  our  own,  and  had  a  very  different  conception  of  the  physical 
universe  and  the  moral  law.  But  this  should  add  to  our  admiration,  our 
veneration,  for  a  Plato  who  could  rise  to  so  great  a  sublimity  of  thought 
in  spite  of  such  semi-barbarous  conditions  and  surroundings.  These  men 
also  looked  upon  the  world  with  younger  and  fresher  eyes.  We  are  two 
thousand  three  hundred  years  older  than  they  are.  They  knew  very 
little  of  the  past  history  of  the  world  and  had  only  an  insignificant  fraction 
of  our  scientific  knowledge.  If  any  religious  doubts  had  begun  to  arise 
in  their  minds,  they  still  could  not  possibly  have  rid  themselves  of  the  belief 
instilled  into  them  since  childhood — and  they  lived  among  Nymphs  and 
Fauns,  and  saw  a  god  in  every  star  and  under  every  wave.  Never  had  they 
heard  or  dreamt  of  any  Love  of  God,  or  Love  of  Man.  It  is  only  the 
enthusiast  who,  by  picturing  the  Greeks  as  a  modern  moral  nation,  detracts 
from  our  real  interest  in  them  and  robs  their  literature  of  its  fascination. 
If  knowledge  of  the  true  Greek  character  were  to  destroy  all  our  enjoyment 
in  their  art  and  literature,  even  then  truth  must  prevail  "  though  the  heavens 
fall "  ;  but  the  fact  is  far  otherwise.  The  fuller  our  knowledge  the  more 
we  shall  enjoy  the  greatness  and  beauty  of  their  art  and  poetry  and  the  more 
absorbing  will  be  our  interest  in  their  literature. 

*  An  excessive  importance  is  attached  to  the  cold  conventional  foliated  designs. 


383 


INDEX     OF     SUBJECTS 


Ability,    Average.     374-78 
Absurd  Prescriptions.     320 
Abt  Vogler.     275 
Acquaintanceship,      Pre-matrimo- 

nial.     131 

Acquiring  and  Using.     208 
Action   and    Inaction.     25 
Adelaide  Edition,     ix 
Adelaide  Libraries,      xii 
Adonis,  Feast  of.     86 
Advance,  the  Age's.     272 
Adventure,  Created  Empire.    358 
Advice,     like     Snow.     315 
Advice,    Micawber's.     284 
Aestheticism.     310 
Age,  Men  Product  of  Their.     266 
Age,  Old.     96,  164,  240 
Age,  Old,  over  Cautious.     34 
Age,  Spirit  of  The.     266 
Agnostic.     110-12 
Agnosticism,     xi 
Aims,  Great.     260 
Alcibiades.     292 
Alexander  and  Parmenio.     197 
Alice  in  Wonderland.     35 
Allotment    Holders.     269 
Altruism.     116-7,328 
Ambition.     109,  197 
America.     2,  240 
Amphibium.     236 
Anacreontic.     354 
Ancestral  Stain.     24 
Ancient  and  Modern  World.     95 
Ancients,  Cruelty  of.     172 
Ancients,  Ethics  of  The.     207 
Angels.     106, 159,  348 
Animal  Intelligence.     113 
Animals,  Greeks  and.     370 
Anthology,  Greek.     8-11,  306 


Anthropomorphism.     112,  128 

Anticipated    Thoughts,     xii 

Anticipating  Trouble.  121,  189, 
305 

Apelles.     334 

Apelles,  Proverbs  of.     335 

Apollo's  Song.     302 

Apothegms.  12,  21,  39,  48,  49, 
51,  59,  62,  63,  72,  73,  78,  80, 
90,  91,  94,  96,  97,  101,  107,  115, 
116,  130,  131,  135,  139,  149,  150, 
151,159,160,162,165,170,172, 
175,  178,  179,  182,  184,  192,  196, 
197,  19S,  202-5,  215,  226, 
228,  229,  233,  236,  240,  242, 
249-51,256-7,259,262,264,268-9, 
272-4,  279-80,  282-5,  287,  295, 
306-7,  312,  314-15,  319,  331-2, 
335,  339,  341 

Arcadia.     148 

Arnold,  Matthew.  19,  176,  265, 
266,  291 

Art.     317,  349 

Ascendancy,  Greek,  Misleading. 
363 

Aspiration,  Moral.     24,   139 

Astrology.     31,  40 

Athenian  Ability.     374-5 

Athenian  Religion.     367 

Athens.     365 

Audience,  the  Poet's.     137 

Aunt,  an  Old  Maiden.     130 

Australia  and  England.     7 

Australia  and  Literature,     x 

"  Avalon."     307 

Babe  Christabel.     22 

Babies.     52,  169 

Bacchus   and   Neptune.     306 


INDEX     OF    SUBJECTS 


Backbiters.     306 
Bait.     339 

Balder  and  Death.     184 
Ballad  upon  a  Wedding.     363 
Ballads  and  Legislation.     352 
Banbury  Puritans.     253 
Baptism.     15 

"  Barren  Orthodoxy."     16 
Battle  Hymn,  America's.     240 
Beans,  Corn  and  Poetry.     345 
Beauties,  Proud.     159 
Beauty,   Divinity  of.     352 
Beauty,  Divine  use  of.     193,  313 
Beauty,   Invisible.     178 
Beauty,   Inward.     17 
Beauty,  Is  Truth.     162 
Beauty,  Necessity  of.     164 
Beauty,  Praise  of.     338 
Beauty,  Sense  of.     178,  379 
Beauty,  Worse  than  Wine.     362 
Beauty's  Silent  Music.     321-22 
Bee,  The.     222 
Beef  and  Beer.     69 
Belief,     83 

Belief,  Loss  of.     260,  327-29 
Belfast  Address,  The.     66 
Bell,  The  Dinner.     69 
Belle  of  the  Ballroom.     206 
Beloved  Die.     181 
Beneath  My  Window.  153 
Benefactor,    A.     150 
Bentham,  Jeremy.     116-7, 181-2 
Bereavement.     29-30 
Best,  Imperfect.     135 
Best  People  Slandered.     148 
Bethlehem.     25 

Bible,  Literal  Interpretation  of.  344 
Birth.     306 
Birth,  Death  As.     238 
Birthdays.     135,  160 
Bishop,  Most  Diligent,  The.     137 
Blackstone.     181 
Blake,  William.     105,  109,  266-7 
Blanco,  White  J.     xi,  252 
Blindness.     53-4,  155 
Body  and  Mind.     283 
Book  of  Snobs.     280 
Bourdillon,  F.  W.     x 
Bouts  Rimes.     284 
Boys'  Pastimes.     229 
Brain,  Atrophied.     319 
British  Dominions  and  "Home."  8 
British  Empire  Created  by  Adven- 
ture.    358 


Browning,  E.  B.     293 
Browning,  R.     xi,  19,  204 
Browning,  R.,  Heaven  of.     204 
Brownings'  Love  Story,  The.  45,47 
Browning    Society,    The.     19 
Buchanan,  R.     x 
Bulwark,  England  A.     2 
Burial.     349 

Butcher,  Professor.     348 
Butterfly,  The  Doleful.     26J 
Buyer  and  Seller.     306 
Byronic  Gloom.     170 
"  By  the  North  Sea."     341-3 


Cabbages,  Critics  And.     360 
Cain,  Father  of  Art  and  Science. 

247 
Cambridge  Examinations.     153-5, 

208 

Cana,  Miracle  of.     361 
Canadian  Boat  Song.     198 
Carlyle's  French  Revolution.     332 
Carlyle's  Requiem.     332 
Carnivorous.     148 
Carpe   Diem.     195,   354. 
Cat,  Sabbatarian's.     253 
Catholic  and  Protestant.     124 
Cato  and  Public  Honours.     175 
Causality,     xi 

Causes  Small,  Events  Great.     161 
Celtic    Imagination.     358 
Cerebration,    Unconscious.     151 
"  Chamouni  and  Rydal."     175 
Champions,  Incompetent.     138 
Changeless.     90,  152,  158 
Character.     141,  229,  260 
Character    and    Reputation.     196 
"  Charge,  A."     82 
Charites,  The.     292 
"  Charitie,   An   Excelente  Balade 

of."     42 
Chatterton.     45 
Child,  A.     310 
Child,  Eyes  of  a.  '   147 
Child,  Grace  for  a.     239 
Child,  Mother  and.     267 
Child  Slaves.     48 

"  Childhood  and  his  Visitors."    243 
Children.     143,  144,  146-7,  169-70 
Children,  Cruelty  to.     48,  96 
Children^  Death"  of.     316 
Children,  Employment  of.     48 


Children,  Games  of.     229 


INDEX     OF    SUBJECTS 


38  5 


Children,  Sufferings  of.     96 
Children's  Hymn.     319 
Child's  Outlook,  The.     146-7 
Chinese,  The.     255 
Chivalry.     96 
Christ.  '  133,  142,  180,  318 
Christ,  Has  He  Failed  ?     95 
Christ's  Love  for  Man,  268. 
Christianity,  Evidence  for.     251 
Church  of  England.     15,  16 
Cigar  Preferred  to  Woman.     242 
City  Ideal,  The.     269 
Civilization    and    Shambles.     148 
Classical  Enthusiasm.      290,  292, 

364,  366,  374, 

Classical  Men  as  Critics.     291 
Classics  and  English.     291 
Cleopatra.     270 
Cleon.     5 
Clifford,     xi 

Coleridge,  S.  T.     74,  312,  313 
Colenso.     xi,  344 
Committee  of  Shakespeares.     247 
Communication  from  the  Dead.  36, 

172 

Compensation.     158,  278 
Compliment,  A  Pretty.     359 
Composition,  Inspiration  and.  142 
Conceit.     258,  279 
Confession  a  Relief.     256 
Conservative,  A.     261 
Conservatism.     181 
Consolation,    Tobacco's.     241-2 
Constancy.     301,  309 
Constitution,  English,  The.     181 
Contemplation,  Time  for.     318 
Content.     114 

Contentedness,     22  J ,  252,  270 
Convulsionnaires.     349 
Contingencies.     140-1 
Coral  Reef,  The.     153 
Cosmical  Development.     303-4 
Courage.     360 
"  Courtin',  The."     98 
Courting  after  Marriage.     236 
Courts,  Law,  Satan's  Home.     184 
Cowardice.     80 
Cowper.     108 

"  Creation,"  Story  of,  The.     189 
Creation,  Continuous.     273 
Creeds,  Beauty  in  Old.     343 
"  Crisis,  The  Present."     2 
Critics  and  Cabbages.     360 
Critics'   Misjudgments.     132 
Criticism,  The  Higher.     344 


Crofter  Exiles,  The.     198 
"  Crossing  the  Bar."     xi 
Cruelty.     138,  172 
Culture,    Speculative.     309 
Cunning.     226 
Cupid,  Bust  of.     160 
Cyclades,  The.     364 
Cynic,  The.     257 
Cyrus    in    Mesopotamia.  333 

Dahlia,  The.     359 

"  Dark  Companion,  The."     55 

Darwin,  Charles,     xi,  318 

Darwinism.     64,  65,  66,  68 

Dauntlessness.     vii,  257 

Day.     95 

Day  is  Dying.     249 

Days  Lost.     135 

Dead,  Communication  from  The. 

36,  172 

Dead,  Most  and  Merriest.     262 
Death,  A  Mockery.     232 
Death  and  Fear.     330 
Death  as  Birth.     238 
Death  as  Sleep.     148 
Death   awakens.     114 
Death,  Painless.     148 
Death,  Shadow  of.     184 
Death,  Survival  after.     151,  250 

329,  346-48 

"  Death's  Jest  Book."     305-6 
Debate.     59,  205,  340 
Decisions  in  Life.     321 
Deeds,    Indestructible.     12 
Deities.    31 

Deification  of  Man.     xi,  129 
Democracy  and  Empire.     5 
Democracy,  Greeks  and.     5,  368 
Dependence,  Man's.     295 
De  Quincey.     227 
Desert,  London  A.     105 
Despair.     170 
"  De  Tea  Fabula."     17 
Devil,  The.     41,  42,  137,  159 
Dickinson,  G.Lowes.     368 
Die,  Longing  to.     250 
Dining.     69-71 
Disciple,  The.     179 
Divine  Birth.     140 
Divine  Discontent.     232 
Divine  Love.     55 
Divine,  The.     271 
Divine  Will,  The.      104,  303-5 
Divinities,  Pleasing.    31 


386 


INDEX     OF    SUBJECTS 


Divinity.     351-2 

Divinity  and  Harmony.     108 

Divorce,  Law  of.     183 

Dogs  before  Men.     241 

Do  it  Now.     228 

Doubt.     179, 

Downward  Path,  The.     34 

Drama.     214 

Dream,  A  Child's.     147 

"  Dream  of  Fair  Women,  A."    270 

Dreams,  Analysis  of.     151 

Dreams,   Unrealised   in    his    Life. 

316 

Dreamthorp.      158 
Drift,  Letting  Ourselves.     39 
Drink.     160,  306 
"  Drink    to    me    only    with  thine 

Eyes."     10 

Drinking,  Five  Reasons  for.     160 
Duchess,  Painted,  The.     249 
Duty.     1,  80-3,  349-50 
Duty  of  Delight.     192-3 
Dying  Day.     249 
Dying  Emperor.     238 
Dying,  On.     148,  149 

Each  for  Each.     184 
Each  Man  Three  Personalities.    59 
"  Ear  of  Dionysius."     172,  348 
Earth  Dear,  Heaven  Free.     264 
Earth  Goeth  to  Earth,     354 
Earth  made  for  Man.     116 
Earth,  Mother.     209-12 
Earth,  Presiding  Spirit  of  the.     278 
Earth,  The  Wholesome.     201 
East,  The  Unchanging.      152 
"  Ecce  Homo."     16 
Economy.     284 
Education.     143,  180,  358 
Effective  Literature.     6,  48,  352 
Effort.     250 

Electricity  and  Plant  Life.     72 
Eliot,  George.     327-8,  343 
Elizabethan  Authors.     357 
Emerson's  Heaven.     205 
Emotion  and  Intellect.     202 
Emotions,  The  Blunting  of.     274-5 
Empire  and  Adventure.     358 
Empire  and  Democracy.     5 
Empty  Heads.    233 
Enduring  Literature.     227 
England.     1,  2,  178 
English  and  Classics.     291 
English  as  Dreamers  and  Idealists. 
358 


English  Characteristics.     358 

English  Conservatism.     181 

English  Constitution.     181 

English  Delusions.     358 

English  Faults.     358 

English  Superiority.     358 

English  Visitors.     178 

English  Wealth  of  Poetry.     358 

Enough.     204 

Enthusiasm,    Early.     24 

Epigrams.     144,  226-28,  251 

Epitaphs.     96,  178,  287,  339,  354 

Epitaphs,  Exaggeration  In.     178 

Equality.     280 

Error  dies.     132 

Essays.     347 

Estrangement.     280-1,  301 

Eternal  Life.     214 

Eternal  Love.     122 

Eternal  Punishment.     123 

Eternity.     166 

Ethics,  Ancient.     207-9 

Et  in  Arcadia  Ego.     148 

Eugenics.     247 

Events  Great,  Cause  Small.     161 

"  Everlasting  Yea,"  The.     83 

Every  Tale  Told.     188 

Evil  chiefly  Mental.     280 

Evolution.     64-8,  189,  303-5,  306 

Evolution,  A  Speculation  Opposed 

to.     xi,  303-5 
Exaggeration.     178,  338 
Examinations.     153-55,  207-8 
Example  to  Others.     61,  351 
Excuses  for  Drinking.   160 
Exemplary  Life.     268 
Exiles,  Highland.     198-9 
Existence,  Previous.     92,  203-4 
Experience.     73,  149-50,  256,  280, 

309 
Eyes,  Infants',  Solemnity  of.  147 

Faculties.     323 

Fair  Spectacle,  A      25 

Faith.     165, 

Falsities,  Rooted.     96 

Fame.     85,  175 

Familiarity     destroys     Romance. 

280 

Faust.     41 

Fear  and  Death.     330 
Fearlessness,     vii,  267 
Fear  of  Mrs.  Grundy.     289 
Fellow  Feeling.     335 
' '  Feast  of  Adonis,  The."     86 


INDEX     OF    SUBJECTS 


387 


Few  Wise.     146 

Fickleness.     285-6 

Fidelity.     221, 232 

Fight  On.     205 

First  Love     325,  352 

Fitzgerald's  Omar  Khayyam.     268 

Flowers.     7,  149,  169 

Folly,  Proof  of  Our.     314 

Fool,  Gravest  Man  a.     257 

Fools,  One  makes  Many.     146 

Fool,  Playing  The.     3.22 

Fooling  the  People.     306 

Fools,  Majority  Are.     146 

Fools,We  are.     22 

Foresight.     351 

Forestalled,     xii 

Forethought.     172 

Forgeries,  Literary.     45,  231 

Forget  Me.     28 

Forgiveness.     51,  135 

Franchise,  Women  and  The.     314 

Fraud,    The  Worst.     229 

Freaks  of  Nature.     325 

Freedom.     1,  6,   80 

"  Free  Trade  "  Fetish.     358 

Friend  and  Foe.     107 

"  Friend  of  Humanity,  The."   223 

Friends.     93 

Friends,  Breach  Between.     301 

Friends,  Death  of.     340 

Friendship,  Temporary.     107 

Fugue.     13 

Furnivall,  Dr.     19 

Future  Life.     84,  127,  134,  204-5, 

327-9,  346-8,  350 
Future,  The.     361 

Gains.     195 

Gallon,  Sir  F.     247,  374-8 

Game  of  Chance  Clergy   Favour. 

91 

Gem,  The.     277 
Genealogy.     247 
Genius  and  Thought.     78 
Genius,  Prerogative,  of.     78 
Genius,  The  Greek.     290,  366,  374 
Gentleman,  The  First.     133 
German  Illusions.     166 
German,  Sword,  The.     3 
German  Teaching.     2 
Germans  Surpassed.     358 
Gethsemane,  Solitude  Of.     332 
Giant,  Sleep  as  a  Gentle.     115 
Gifts,  Man's.     63 


"  Gipsy  Child,"  To  a.     237 
Gissmg's  "  Henry  Rycroft."     292 
Giving  and  Having.     188 
Giving  is  Receiving.     146 
Gladstone,  W.  E.     339 
Glaucus  the  Sea  God.     129 
"  Globe,  Letty's."     327 
Gluttony.     306 
God.     1,  2,  128,  160,  197,  233,  260, 

God  ever  Present.     197,  285,  331 

God,  Evolution  of.     166 

God,  Forgiveness  Of.     287 

God,   Forgotten.     1 

God,  Guidance  of.     285 

God,  Living  To.     261 

God,  Man  Like.     275 

God,  Man's  Reflex.     128 

God  Watching.     2 

Gods  and  Spectres.     144 

Gods  are  Brethren.     97 

Gods  are  Dumb.     Ill 

Gods,  Greek.     293, 381 

Gods,   The    on    the    side    of    the 

Strongest.     49 
God's  Rest.     285 
Gods  that  Pity.     215 
Good,  Doing.     150,   182,  201,  228 
Good  in  every  Man.     259 
Good  Nature.     151 
Good  never  Lost.     275 
Gorham  Case,  The.     15,  16 
Grace  for  a  Child.     239 
Gravest  Man  a  Fool.     257 
Gray's  Elegy.     109,  376 
Great  Man,  The.     260 
Great  Men.     51 
Greece,  Foundations  of.     289 
Greece,  Influence  of.     289 
Greek  Anthology,The.     8-11,  306 
Greek  Civilization.     371 
"  Greek  Genius,  The."  by  R.  W. 

Livingstone.     290,  366-7,  374 
Greek  Glamour.     363-6 
Greek  Gods.     293 
Greek  Infanticide.     172-3 
Greek,  Incorrect  Translation  from 

The.     173,  292-3,  372-3 
Greek   Intellect.     289,   369 
Greek  Life.     381 
Greek  Plays.     371 
Greek  Poetry.     290 
Greek    Religion.     217-18,    366-8. 

370-2 

25A 


3** 


INDEX     OP  SUBJECTS 


Greek  Sense  of  Beauty.     379 
Greek  Sense  of  Colour.     380 
Greek  Sense  of  Humour.     365,  369 
Greek  Statesmen.     5,  375 
Greek  Statues  and  Temples.     380- 

Greek  Vice.     369 

Greek  Virtues.     368 

Greek  Want  of  Humanity.     173-4 

Greek  Women.     86-90, 173 

Greeks,    Falsehood,   Theft,  etc. 

366-7 

Greeks  and  Equality.     5 
Greeks,    Ignorance   of  The.     293, 

369-71 

Greeks  or  Germans  ?     5,  367 
Greeks,  Shelley  on  the.     173,  289 
Grief,  Nation's.     3 
Grief,  Dry-eyed  and  Silent.     12 
Grief,  Solitary.     332 
Griffin,  The.     311 
Grocer,  The  Fraudulent.     282 
Grown  Up.     142 
Grundy,  Mrs.     289 

Habit.     172 

Haeckel.     65-8 

Hafiz  and  Tamerlane.     33? 

Happiness.     83,  233 

Harmony  and  Divinity.     108 

Harrison  F.     xi 

Harrison,  Jane.     292 

Harvard  University  Men.     2 

Harvest  of  Pain.     213,  263,  268 

Harvests,  The  Two.     233 

Head,  Heart  Rules  The.     241 

Heart,  A  Wounded.     162 

Heart's  Compass.     324 

Heaven.     84,123,358 

Heaven  alone  Free.     264 

Heaven  and  Hell.     123 

Heaven,  Browning's.     204 

Heaven,  Emerson's.     205 

Heaven,     Myers'.     205 

Heaven  Remembered.     243 

Hebrides.     198 

Hebrew  Prophets.     134 

Hegel's  Philosophy.     105 

Helen  of  Troy.     270 

Hell.     123-4 

Hellenism.     364 

Herbert's  Collection  of  Proverbs. 

306 
Herodotus.     173 


Hero  Worship.     323 

Hidden,  What  Can't  Be.     96 

High  Failure,  Low  Success.     233 

Higher  Criticism,The.     344 

"  Higher  Mountain,  The."       236 

Highland  Evictions.     198-9 

Hilton,  A.  C.     50 

History's  Record.     2 

Hodgson,   Richard.       vii,    ix,    x, 

207-9,  346 
Hogg,  James.     340 
Home  is  Homely.     184 
Home,  Satan  At.     184 
Home    Thoughts.     345 
Hope.     33,  42,  139,  359,  361 
Homer.     292 
Horrors.     148 
Human  Life.     251 
Human   Personality.     151,   346 
Human  Settees.     287 
Humanity.     96,   138,  267 
Humanity,  The  Spirit  of.     209 
Humour,  Sense  of.     248,  365 
Huxley,  T,  H,     64-6 
Hymn.     240,  319 
"  Hymn  to  God  the  Father,  A."  61 
Hypnotism.     151 
Hysteria.     151 

"  I  am  Sick  for  Yesterday."     333 

Ideal  City.     269 

Ideal  Ills.     280 

Ideals.     156 

Ideals  dragged  to  Earth.     269 

Ideas  Outgrown.     179 

Ideas  Superseded.     272 

Idleness.     108,  262 

"  Identity."     130 

Ills.     280 

Illusions.     274 

Imagination.     36-9,     146-7,    290, 

357-8 

Imagination  aids  Intellect.     357-8 
Imagination,  Characteristic  of  the 

English.     358 
Imagination,  Practical  Utility  of, 

The.     39,    356-8 
"  Imbuta."     324 
Immortality.     346 
Immortality,  Promise  of.     317 
Immortality,      Song     and.         11, 

Imperfection,  Essential  to  Life. 


INDEX     OF    SUBJECTS 


Impudence.     20 

Inaction.     25 

Independent  Thinkers.     51,  54 

Indexes,  Want  Ot.     291 

Industry,  Satan's.     137 

Infant,  Dead.     316 

Infanticide.     172-74 

Influence       of        undistinguished 

Lives.     333 
Influence   of  Women.     242,   333, 

354 

Influence  of  Wordsworth.     176-8 
Ingratitude,  Public.     1 
"  In  Memoriam."     253 
Innocence,  Lost.     97 
Insight.     323 
Insomnia.     240 

Inspiration.     10,  125,  214,  240 
Insults,  Emperors  and.     338 
Intellect  and  Morality.     323 
Intention,  Counts  with  God.     194 
Interests    Conflicting.     282 
Interests,  Vested.     96 
Intimacy   and    Indifference.     264 
Inventors.  72 

Invisible,  Tidings  of  the.     90 
Inquisition,  The.     16 
Irony.     183 
Irrevocable.     97 
Iscariot,  Judas.     74 
Isocrates.     202 

Isolation.     265-66,    280-1,    301-2, 
I,  What  Am  ?      103 

Jansenists,  The.     349 

Jennie  Kissed  Me.     278 

"Jest   Book,   Death's."     305-6 

Jester's  Plea,  The.     289 

"esus,  Logia  Of.     331 
ohnson,  Dr.,  and  the  Scots.  196-7 
onah  and  the  Whale.     7 
udas  Iscariot.     74-7 
udges,  Competent.     132 
ustice  and  Empire.     5 
ustice  and  Money.     182-3 
ustice  and  Power.     166 
'ustice  of  God,  The.     287 

Kaiser.     3,  338 
Keats.     74 

Kind,  Make  Haste  to  Be.     201 
Kindred  Souls,  Failure  to  Recog- 
nise.    187 


Kipling,  Rudyard.     131-2 
Know,  What  do  the  Wisest  ?    110 
Knowledge.     101,    110-11 
Knowledge,  Obstacles  To.     351 
"  Kritik  of  Practical  Reason." 
350 

"  La  Belle  Dame  Sans  Merci."   271 

Labour,  Loftiness  of.     108 

Labour,  Uses  of.     204 

Ladder,  Sorrows  The.     263 

Ladder,  Vices  as  a.     262-3 

"  Lady's  '  Yes  ',  The."     153 

Lamb,  Charles  and  Mary.     159-60 

"  Lamb,  The."     115 

Land  Crabs.     163 

Land,  Silent  The.     95 

Laissez-Faire.     358 

Laocoon,  The.     380 

Late,  Too.     58 

Latin,  Pronunciation  of.     19 

Law,  Court  of,  Satan's  Home.     148 

Law,  English.     181 

Law,  Money  and.     182-3 

Law  Reform.     181-4 

Law  Making,  Ballad  Making  Before. 

352 

Lead,  The.     267 

Ledgers,  Men  change  Swords  for.  1 
"  L'Envoi."     244-6 
Lese-majeste.     338 
Let  it  be  There.     62 
"  Letty's  Globe."     327 
Life.     13,   100,  114,   117-21,   152, 

214,     227-8,  238-9,  251,  267-9, 

310,  354,  360,  362 
Life  and  Death.     250,  325 
Life,  Cruelty  of.     148,  239 
Life,  is  it  Worth  Living  ?     165 
Life,  Memories  of  a  Previous.     91-2 
Life,  Perilous.     321 
Life,  Prized.     250 
Life,  Sadness  of.     239 
Life,  Secret  of.     117 
Life,  Short.     201 
Life,    Struggle.     260 
Life,  Sweet.     347 
Life,  Tragedies  of.     274-5,  294 
Life,  Uncertain.     140 
Light,  a  Point  in  the  Darkness. 

269 

Light  and  Life.     252 
Light,  the    Speech    between     the 

Stars.     12 


39<> 


INDEX     OF    SUBJECTS 


Lincoln,  President.     306 

Litany,  Old  Monkish.     309 

Literature,  Classification  of.      227 

Literature,  Effective.     6,  48,  352 

Literature  of  the  16th  and  17th 
Centuries.  283-4 

Literature  Superseded  and  Sur- 
viving. 227 

Literature,  why  the  best  Survives. 
132 

Literary  Circles,  Australia  and 
English,  x 

Lives^  Sad.     294 

Living  Past,  The.     170 

Living,  Sympathy  with  the.      192 

Locke,   John,   on  Education.  180 

Logia  of  Jesus.     331 

London  a  Desert.     105-6 

Long  Expected.     125 

Lost  Days.     135 

"  Lotos  Eaters,  The."     329 

Love.  12,  13,  24,  27,  41,  49,  78, 
142,  158,  164-5,  196,  205,  222, 
224,  244,  259,  306,  319,  355,  359 

Love,  Analysis  of.     103 

Love  and  a  Cough.     96 

Love  and  Duty.     224 

Love  and  Life.     334 

Love  and  Self.     199 

Love,  Brevity  of.  13,  27,  30,  149, 
162-3,  248,  274,  288 

Love,  Brotherly.     134 

Love,  Characteristics  of.     134 

Love  Divine.     54,  315 

Love  Ennobles.      156 

Love  Episode,  A.     326 

Love,  Eternal.     122 

Love,  First.     324-5,  352-3 

"Love  in  the  Valley."     302 

Love,  Mortal.     162 

Love,  Quest  of.     41 

Love,  Second.     324 

Love,  Herbert  Spencer,  on.      103 

Love  Still-born.     255 

"  Love  Sweetness."     330 

Love,  The  meaning  of  the  World. 
323 

Love,  Wakes  Men  Once.     147 

Love,  What  is  ?     103 

Loved  Things  Die.     181 

Love's   Cruelty.     126-7 

Love's  Delay.     57-9 

"  Love's  Last  Messages."      157 

Love's  Lovers.     248 


Lover,  Role  of,  Brief.     322 
Lunacy.     35,   160,  215 

Machiavelli.     312 

Maiden  Aunt,  A.     130 

Maiden's  Heart,  A.     107 

Make  Haste.     201 

Making  of  Man,  The.     216 

Malays.     263 

Mallock's  "  New  Republic."  9,  310 

Man.     81,275 

Man,  Loveable.     259 

Man,   Stereotyped.     150 

Man's    Dependence.     295 

Man's  Gains  Remain  his  Own. 

149-50 

Man's  Gifts.     63 
Man's  Greatness.     97 
Man's  Importance  to  Himself.   113 
Man's  Life.     100 
Man's  Perdition.     5 
Man's  Price.     77 
Man's  Vision.     323 
Man's  Work  can  help  God.     165 
Many  Fools.     146 
Marcus   Aurelius.     215 
Marriage.     90-1,  236 
Marriage,   only  Game  of  Chance 

Clergy  Favour.     91 
Marriage,    Wife    Requires    to    be 

Courted,  after.     236 
Martineau,  James,     xi 
Martyr,  The.     155 
Master  of  All.     160 
Master,  Our.     143 
Marvel,  A  Two-fold.     131 
Materialism,     xi,  64-6,  102,  303-5, 

316,327,  330 

Materialism,    Modern.     303-4 
Matter.     104 
Matter,  Mind  and.     102 
Medical     Prescriptions,    Wesley's. 

320 

Meditations.     110-113 
Melrose  Abbey.     69 
Memories.     161-2,  255,  314 
Memories   of  This  Life  Hereafter. 

170 

Memories,  Sweet.     255 
Memory.     33,  159 
Men  and  Beasts.       113 
Men  and  Dogs.     241 
Men  before  Angels.     348 
Men,  Great.     51-2 


INDEX     OF    SUBJECTS 


Men,  Sameness  of.     150 

Men,  Tall.     233 

Men,    Women    made    Foolish    to 

Match.     80 

Menzies,  P.  S.  Sermons  of.      271-3 
Mercy.     287 

Mercies,  Small.     221,  222 
Mermaid  Tavern,  The,      313-14 
Micawber's   Advice.     284 
"  Milk  of  Paradise."     313 
Mill,  James.     101 
Mill,  John  Stuart.     116 
Milton.     155,  343 
Milton,  Parody  on.     274 
Miltons,  Mute.     357,  376 
Mimnermus   in   Church.     347-8 
Mind  Affected  by  Age.     179 
Mind  and  Body.     283 
Mind  and  Matter.     102 
Miracles.     315, 349 
Miscellaneous.       48,  51,  60,  62-3, 

182-4,     196-8,     268-70,     294-5, 

332-5,  360-3 

Misfortunes    of    Others.     251 
Mistakes.     244 

Modern   Religious   Thought.     141 
Moliere.     32,  284 
Money  and  Innocence.     97 
Money  and  Law.     182 
Money,  God's    Estimate  of.     204 
Monica's  Vision.     144 
Monkey,  Man's  Descent  from.     64 
Moon,  The.     20 
Morality   and   Intellect.     323 
Mors  et  Vita.     348 
Moslem  Rule.     25 
Moth,  The.     222 
Mother  Earth.     209-13 
Mother  who  -Died  Too,  The.     316 
Miiller  F.  Von.     318 
Multiplex  Personality.     150-1 
Murder.     34 

Murray's,  Gilbert,  Euripides.  371-3 
Music.    154 
Music.     13-14,    108,   275-77,   302, 

321-2 

Music,  Beauty  like.     321-22 
"  Music  in  their  Heart."     65 
Muttons,  Return  to  our.     182 
"  My  Commonplace  Book."     291 
Myers,  F.  W.  H.     205,  277,  316-1 7, 

346-7,  363-81 
Mythology,     Greek.     292 


Nakedness.     239 

Nation's  Ballads  and  Legislation. 

352 
Nation's  Heart,  Song  that  Nerves 

a.     352 

"  Natural  Religion."     330 
Nature.     47,   90,    188,   240,    246, 

252,  283-4 

Nature,  Contrary  to.     47 
Nature  Echoes  and  Reflects.     189 
Nature,  Freaks  of.     325 
Nature,  Good.     151 
Nature,    Intellectual    and    Moral 

Inseparable.     323 
Nature,  Love  of.     109,  164,  175-8 

222-3,  283,  379 
Nature,  Love  of,  in  18th  Century 

and  Earlier.     178,  283,  379 
Nature  the  Old  Nurse.     355 
Necessity  of  Lovely  Things.     164 
Neither  Good  nor  Bad.     134 
Nescience.     202 
New  and  Old  Systems.     2 
New  Gospel,  The.     66-8 
Newton,  Sir  Isaac.     249 
Night  and  Death.     252 
Night,  Death  and  Woman.     168 
Night  has  a  Thousand  Eyes,  x,  334 
Night,  Mysterious.     252 
Night,  Ships  that  Pass  in  the.  280-1 
Nightingale,   The.     11,    136,   279, 

290,  292,  362 
Nobleness.     280 
Noblesse  Oblige.     351 
Nonsense   Lines.     152-3,    228-9 
Nostalgia.     203-4 
Not  One  Christian.     159 
Notes.  The  need  for  Author's,  xii.71 

Oblivion.     259 
Object,  A  Common.     281 
Objects,    Good.     4 
Obscurity,   Browning's.     19 
Octopus,  The.     49-51 
Odysseus,  Ship  of.     217 
Old  Age.     96,  164,  240 
Old  College  Rooms.     229 
Old  Creeds.     343 
Old  Monkish  Litany.     309 
Old  World  Creed,  An.     231 
Old  Year,  The.     129 
Omar  Khayyam.     194,  268 
"  O   May    I    Join    the   Choir    In- 
visible."    327-8 


392 


INDEX     OF    SUBJECTS 


On  a  Fine  Morning.     115-6 

One  Loves,  the  Other  Submits. 
242 

One  Poem,  Fame  for.     252 

One  Port  Alike  they  Sought.     281 

Opinion.     83,  102 

Opinion,  Private,  Income  Neces- 
sary to.  54 

Opinion,  Change  of.     256 

Opportunities,  Lost.     62 

Opportunity.     262 

Optimism.     350-1 

"  O,  so  White  1  O,  so  Soft  !  O,  so 
Sweet  is  She  !  "  335 

Ossian.     231 

"  Ordeal  of  Richard  Feverel." 
326 

Orthodoxy,     xi,  16 

Others'   Misfortunes.     251 

"  Ought."     350 

Ouida.     215 

Ovid.     363 

Owen,  Professor.     64 

Oxford.     19 

"  Pace  that  Kills,"  The.     174-5 

Pagan  and  Christian.     173 

Pain,  The  Harvest  of.      213,  263, 

268 

Paine,  Thomas.     6 
Paradise,  Milk  of.     313 
Paradise,  Spirit  of.     39,  40,  278 
Paradise,  Woman  and.     63 
Pardon,  is  God's  Business.     287. 
Pardons,  Offender  Never.     306 
Parnassus  and  Poverty.     180 
Parodies.     49,  220-1,  223-4,  248, 

253,  274 

Paronomasia.     61,  349 
Parsons.     345 

Passion  and  Philosophy.     294 
Passions  of  Youth.     230 
Past  Self.     255-6 
Past,  The  Living.     170 
Pater's    Philosophy.     309-10 
Path  to  Wisdom,  Thorny.     21 
Paul,  St.     133 
Peace  and  War.     4 
Peacefulness.     259-60 
Pearls  of  Thought.     268 
Pegasus,  George  Eliot's.     343 
Penalty  of  Nobleness.     280 
People,  Plenty  of  Willing.     240 
Perdition,  Safety  as.     5 


!      Pericles.     5 

Persian,  From  the     268 
Personalities,  each  Man  has  Three. 

59-60 

Personality,  Human.     151,  340 
Pessimist.     257-8 
Pets.     225 
Pheidias.     380 
Philosophy,  Various.     101-5,  116, 

165,  294,  309 
Photography.     190. 
Physician.     306 
Pictures,      Word.      85-6,     121-2, 

166-7,      225-6,      270-1,     302-3, 

336-7,  356 

Pickwick  Papers.     264 
Plagiarism.     32,  360 
Pleasure,  Love  Not.     83 
Poem,  Famous  for  One.     252 
Poet  alone  Sees.     147 
Poet  and  His  Audience.     137 
Poet,  Autobiography  of  A.     125 
Poet,  Song  of  the.     136 
Poet,  The.     214,236 
Poetic  Imagination.     39,  40,  357-8 
Poetic  Passion.     310 
Poets  Condemned.     180 
Poets  Known  for  One  Production. 

252 
Poets,  poor  Critics  of  their  Own 

Work.     57,    289-90, 
Poetry.     63,  207,  214 
Poetry  and  Poverty.     180 
Poetry  Creates.     214 
Poetry  Despised.     357-8 
Poetry,  England's  Wealth  of.     358 
Poetry  Immortal.     11,  347 
Poetry,  Important  to  Education. 

358 

Poetry,  Insight  into.     17, 137 
Poetry,  Legislation  less  Vital  than. 

352 

Poetry,  Neglect  of.     218,  358 
Poetry,  Potent.     352 
Poetry,  Scope  of.     136 
Poetry,     Subjects    of,     Alleged 

Exhaustion.     188 
Poetry  Survives  the  Poet.     11,347 
Poetry,  Swinburne's.     219,  343 
Poetry,    Treasure-houses  of.     10, 

358 
Points  of  View.      17,   204-5,   251, 

265-6,  280,  340,  350 
"  Political    Precepts."     175 


INDEX     OF  SUBJECTS 


393 


Pollock,   Sir   F.,   Parodies   by. 
220-21 

Pope  Pius  IX,  xii 

Popularity,  Deferred.     132 

Popularity,  Seeking.     339 

Possession    Stagnates.     250 

Positivism,     xi 

Posterity's  Verdict.     132 

Post-nuptial  Courting.     236 

Potter's  Clay,  The.     193-4 

Poverty  and  Parnassus.     180 

Power  and  Justice.     166 

"  Practical."     101 

Praise  of  Beauty.     338 

Praise  of  Tobacco.     241 

Prayer.     133,282 

Pre-raatrimonial  Acquaintance- 
ship.    131 

Prescriptions,   Absurd  Medical. 
320 

Presiding  Spirit,  Earth's.     278 

Pretence  and  Reality.     227,  262 

Price,  The.     200 

Price,  Man's.     77 

Price,  Wisdom's.     21 

Pride.     156 

Prize  Fighter,  The.     337 

Progress  or  Lethargy  .     125-6 

Progress,  Slow  but  Sure.  143,  257 

Prometheus.     209 

Promise.     350 

Pronunciation.     19,  263-4 

Prophets,  The  Hebrew.     134 

Prosaic  Person,  The.     279 

Proserpine.     211 

Proverbs.     1S4,   197,  257,  306-7, 
334-5 

Prudent  Scot,     A.     197 

Psychical    Research,  Society  for. 
xi,  172,  329,  339,  340,  347',  348 

Psychology.     102 

Public  Servants.     339 

"  Pulley,"  The.     63 

Pulsation  Passage,  Pater's.     310 

Punishment,  Eternal.     123 

Puns.     6!,  349 

Purification.     73 

Puritan's     Cat    that     broke     the 
Sabbath.     253 

Pursuit  more  than  Prize.     250 

Puttenham,   George.     356-7 

Pyrrhus  and  Cineas.     197-8 

Quakers.     247 


"  Queen,  My,  Sequel  to."     57 
Query.     215-16 
Quest.     156 
"  Question,  A."     127 
Questions.     325,   328-9,   341,   350 
Quixotism,    One    of    Satan's    Pet 
Words.     159 

Raleigh,    Sir  Walter.     357 
Rank  and  Precedence.     280 
Reapers,  Sowers  and.     107 
Reason  and  Tradition.     159 
Reasoning,  The  Art  of.     34-6 
Receptivity.     146 
Record,  History's.     2 
Reform.     255  ' 
Regret.     139 
"  Reinforcements,"  Children  as. 

52-3 

Rejuvenation.     160 
"  Religio  Medici."     108 
Religion.     122-4,    134,    159,    227, 

272-3 
Religion   and      Love,   Heralds   of 

Heaven.     149 
Religion  and  Reason.     159 
Religion     and     Science,     Conflict 

Between,     xi,  64-8 
Remember  Me.     60 
Remember  or  Forget.     27-30 
Reminiscence  of  Past  Existence. 

203-4 

Rennaissance,  The.     365 
Repentance.     41 

Reputation,  and  Character.     196 
"  Requiem,  A."     234 
Requiem,  Carlyle's.     332 
Research,    Society   for   Psychical. 

xi,  172,  329,  339,  340,  347,  348 
Rest.     63-4,  161,  285,  329 
Reticence,  Safety  in.     250 
Retribution.     137-8' 
Reunion  after  Death.     348 
"  Revelation,  The."     147 
Reverence.     349 
Rhymed  Ends.     284 
Riches.     188,  204 
"  Rights  of  Man,  The."     6 
"  Rime   of   Redemption,   The." 

295 

Rival,  The.     34 
Rogue,  The,  a  Fool.     226 
Roman  Hardness.     172 
Romance.     280 


.594 


INDEX     OF    SUBJECTS 


"  Romance,  To  the  True."     36 
Romantic  Revival.     109 
"  Rose  and  the  Wind,  The."     53 
Rossetti,  Christina,     28 
Rothschild,  Lord.     36 
Rowley  Forgeries,  The.     45 
Ruskin,  John.     133 

Sabbatarian  Puritan,  The.     253 

"  Sacrifice."     5 

Sacrifice-Self.     199-201,  272 

Sacrifice-Self,  Womans'.     62,  72 

Sacrifice,    Supreme.     2 

Sad  Old  Age.     164 

Sad  Lines.     294 

Safety  as  Perdition.     5 

Sage,  Narrow  Stage  for  The.     322 

Sand  and  Sugar.     282 

Sand,  Traced  on.     286 

St.  Augustine's  Ladder.     263 

St.  Monica's  Vision.     144 

St.  Jerome's  Tutor,     xii 

Sappho.     290,  292,  364,  366 

Satan  and  Pardon.     41-2 

Satan  at  Home.     184 

Satan's  Diligence.     137 

Satan's  Pet  Words.     159 

Sayce,  A.  H.     66-9 

Saying  Nothing.     183-4 

Scaffold,  Truth  for  Ever  on  the. 

2 

Scepticism.     64-8,  110-12,  206 
Science  and  Wonder.     295 
Science,  Religion  and.       xi.  64-8 
Scientist's  Analysis  of  Love.     103 
Scot,  The  Prudent.     197 
Scotland,  Dr.  Johnson  and.     1 96-7 
Scotsman,  Potentiality  of  The. 

196 

Scottj  Sir  Walter.     33,  69-70 
Scottish  Crofters,  Song  of  The. 

Scottish  Washerwomen.     167 
Scribes,  The.     16 
Scriptures,  Veracity  of  the.     344-5 
Search  Perfects.     250. 
Sea-song,  A  Great.     244-6 
"  Sea,  The  Other  Side  of  the."  288 
Sea,  The  Purifying.     166 
Secret,  Life's.     117 
Security  of  Death.     73-4 
Seeley's  "  Ecce  Homo."     xii 
Self-Deception.     229 
Selfishness.     151,    169,    180-1 


Self-Reliance.     274 
Self-Sacrifice.   5,  62,  72,  83,  378-9 
Self-Surrender.     180,   199,  200-1 
"  Sentiment  Kills,  'Tis."    284 
Sermons,  P.S.    Menzie's.     271-3 
Seth  and  Astronomy.     247 
Settees,  Human.     286-7 
Seventies  and  Eighties,  The.   xi 
Seventy    Years    Young.     240 
Sex  in  Souls.     93-4 
Sexes,  Qualities  of  the.     93 
Shade   and   Silence.     162 
Shakespeare.     247,  290 
Shambles,    Civilization    and    the. 

148 

Shallow  but  Clear.     51 
Shaving.     362 
Shelley,     73-4,  289 
Ship  of  Life.     152 
Ships,   all   Romantic   except   our 

Ow^i.     280 

Ships  Bound  to  same  Port.     281 
Ships  that  pass  in  the  Night.  280-1 
Sic  vos  non  Vobis.     107 
Sidgwick,  Henry.     208 
"  Sigurd,  the  Volsung."     4 
Silence  Safe.     250 
Silence  Terrifying.     11 
Silent  Land,  The.     95 
Sin,  Original.     61 
"  Sin,  Vision  of,  The."     139-40 
Singer's  Plea,  The.     352 
Singing.     240 
Skylark,  Shelley's.     290 
Slander.     148,  301,  306 
Slaves,  48,  80,  375 
Sleep.     115,  150-1,  157,  160 
Sleep  and  Death.     114 
Sleep,  He  Giveth  His  Beloved.  157 
Sleep,  Vigilance  and.     150 
Small  Things,  Neglect  of.     196 
Smile,  Beauty's.     116 
Snobbery,  Social.     178 
"  Soapy  Sam."    65 
Society,  the  Browning.     19 
Society   for   Psychical    Research. 

xi,  172,  329,  339,  340,  347,  348 
Solace.     115 
Soldiers  Slighted.     1 
Solitude,  a  City's.     106 
Solitude  of  Grief.     332 
Somnambulism.     151 
Song    that    Nerves    a     Nation's 

Heart,  it  a  Deed.     352 


INDEX     OF    SUBJECTS 


395 


Songs,  A  Nation's.     352 
Sonnet,  which   Coleridge  thought 

the  Finest.     252 
"  Sonnet,  Scorn  not  the."     45 
"  Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese." 

45,  144,  293 
Sorrow,  198,  213 
Sorrow,  The  Worship  of.     83 
Sorrows,  Light,  Speak.     12 
Soul,  The.      15,   32,  51,  55,  129, 

165-6,  178,  238,  251,  360 
Soul's  Aspiration.     251 
Soul's  Beauty.     201 
Soul,  Not  the  Eye,  Sees.     178 
Soul,  The  Crisis  of  the.     284 
Soul,  The  Journey  of  the.     285 
Sowing  and  Reaping.     107 
Space,  Terror  of  Infinite.     11 
"  Spasmodic   School."     231 
Special  Creation.     303-5 
Spell,  for  the  Dying,  A.     279 
Spencer,  Herbert.     101,  103-4,  105 
*'  Spider,  Noiseless  Patient,  A." 

360 
Spirit,    Adventurous,    Created 

Empire.     358 
Spirit,  A  Parting.     279 
Spirit  of  Paradise.     39,  40,  278 
Spirit  of  the  Age.     266 
Spirit  of  the  Universe.     246 
Spiritualism.     171-2 
"  Spiritual  Laws."     25 
Spiritual  World.     272 
Spiritual  World's  Realities.     272 
Spring.     253,  350 
"  Star,  My."     8-10,  131 
Star  to  Star.     12 
Stars  and  Duty,  The.      350 
Stars  and  Fates.     40 
Stars,  Silence  of.     39 
Stars,  Speech  of.     12 
Stars,  Tasks  of  the.     108 
State  and  Man.     166 
Stephen,  Sir  Leslie.     171 
Sterne's  "  Sentimental  Journey." 

283 

Strange    Verses.     230 
Struggle,  The,  Availeth.     257 
Struggle,  Life's.     257,  260 
Stupidity,  as  Protection.     274 
Style.     291 

Success,  Wisdom  and.     34 
Sunshine    to    us    is    Darkness   to 

others.     282 
Superstition.     15 


Supreme   Power   Produces   Mind, 

The.     304-5 

Surroundings,  Familiar.     62 
Survival  after  Death.     151,  250, 

329,  346-8 
Swinburne,     xi.       49-51,     219-21, 

259,  341-3,  347 
Swiveller,    Dick.     69 
"  Sword,  Apotheosis  of  the."     3 
Swords  and  Ledgers.     1 
Sydney,  Sir  Philip.     357 
Sympathy  with   the   Living,   not 

"  the  Dead.     192 
Symposium,    Plato's.     381 
Systems,  Old  and  New.     2 

Talent,  Lost.     357,  376 

Tall  Men.     233 

Taking  Thought.     318 

Tasks.     108 

Tastes  Differ.     265 

Tavern,  The  Mermaid.     313-4 

Teachers.     109 

Tear  Dries  Soon.     306 

Tearless  Grief.     12 

Tears,  Harvest  of.     213,  263,  268 

Tears,  Women's  Secret.     232 

Temptation.     71 

Tennyson,     xi 

Teuton,  God  of  the.     4 

"  The  Night  has  a  Thousand  Eyes." 

x,  334 

"  The  Other  Side  of  the  Sea."     288 
Theosophy.     xi,   172,  209 
"  Thought,  A  Woman's."     311 
Thought  and  Happiness.     354 
Thought,  Independence  in.     51,  54 
Thought,  Modern  Religious.     141 
Thoughts  Anticipated,  Our.     xii 
Thoughts,  Revivifying  Old.     78 
Three  Personalities,  Each  Man  has. 

59 

Throne,  Wrong  for  ever  on  the.     2 
Through  a  Glass  Darkly.     241 
Thrush,  The  Wise.     345 
Thy  Beauty's  Silent  Music.     321 
Tidings  of  the  Invisible.     90 
Time,  Allotted.     322 
Time,  All-powerful.     341-3 
Time  Swift  and  We  Slow.     136 
Time  Wasted.     135-7,  166 
Tobacco.     241-2 
Tongue,     Holding    One's,     Never 

Repented.     250 
Too  Late.     58 


396 


INDEX     OP    SUBJECTS 


Torpor.     108 

Toucan,  The.     325 

"  Trade,  Free,"  Fetish.     358 

Tradition.     159 

Training,  Mental.     358 

Travel  and  Empire.     358 

Treason,  Roman  and  German.  338 

Trial  by  Jury.     358 

Trial  Test.     284 

Trinidad,  Island  of.     163 

Trivial  Causes,  and  Great  Events. 

161 

Trouble,  Anticipating.     121 
Troy,  Helen  of.     2tO 
Troy,  The  Walls  of.     302 
Truth,  2,  104,  105 
Truth,  Champions  of.     138-9 
Truth,  Daring  to  Speak  the.     312 
Truth  for  Truth's  Sake,  Love  of. 

343,  349 

Truth,  Marching  on.     240 
Truth,  Pursuit  of.     260 
Truths.     104 

Tucker,  T.  C.,  on  Sappho.     366 
Tupman,  The  Susceptible.     264 
"  Twilight,  In  the."     91 
Twin,  Happiness  born  a.     332 
Two  for  a  Kiss.     332 
Two  Lovers.     120 


"  Ulysses."     278 

Unconscious    Cerebration.     151 

Under-world,  The.     x,  217 

Universe,  The  Infinity  of  the.     11 

Up-hill.     161 

Utilitarianism.     116 

Utility,  Practical,  of  Imagination. 

39,  291,  356-8 
"  Utopianism,"     one    of    Satan's 

Pet  Words.     159 


Venus  of  Milo,  The.     380 
Veracity  of  the  Scriptures,  The. 

344-5 

Verrall,  Dr.     348 
Verses,  Judging.     207 
Verses,  Strange  Wedding  Eve.  230 
Vices  as  Ladders.     263 
Vigilance  and  Sle^p.     150 
View,  Points  of.     17,  204-5,  251, 

265-6,  280,  340,  350 
Virtue  and  Slander.     148 
Virtue,  Varying  standards  of.  174 


Virtues,  Christian.     359 
Vision.     200,  284,  323 
Vision  of  Sin,  The.     139-40 
Vision,  Man's  Degree  of.     323 
Visits  made  to  Boast  of.     178 
Voice,  Merely.     361-2 
Voices,  Two.     248 
Von  Miiller,  Baron  F.     318 
Vox  et  Praeterea  Nihil.     361 


Waking,  State  Of.     150-1 
Washerwomen,     Scottish.     167 
Washington  and  Thomas  Paine.     6 
War.     1,  2,  3,  6 
Wars,   Effect   Of.     52 
Wealth  and  Worth.     204 
Wealth  of  Poetry,  England's.     358 
"Wedding,  The  Night  before  The." 

230 

Wesley's   Character.     159 
Wesley's  Medical  Prescriptions. 

320 

What  am  I  ?     103-4,  241 
What  do  the  Wisest  Know  ?     110 
"  What  of  the  Darkness  ?  "     53 
"  When  shall  our  Prayers  End  ?  " 

321 

When  we  are  all  Asleep.     215-16 
Whence  and  Whither  ?     Ill,  152 
Whetstone    cannot    cut    but 

Sharpens,  A.     202 
White,  J.  Blanco,     xi,  252 
Why  not  now  ?     197 
Wife  must  be  Courted.     236 
Wife,  The  Troublesome.     339 
Wilberforce,  Bishop.     64,  344 
Will,  Strong  in.     278 
Willing  People.     240 
"  Wind  and  the  Rose,  The."     53 
Wisdom.     246,310 
Wisdom  and  Cunning.     226 
Wisdom  and  Folly.     314 
Wisdom  and  Success.     34 
Wisdom,  The  Path  Of.     21 
Wise,  Few.     146 
Woman,  63,  72-3,  80,  94,  116,  203, 

232,  242,  341,  343,  361 
Woman  and  Tobacco.     241-2 
Woman,  Fickle.     34,  285-6 
Woman,  Paradise  and.     63 
Woman,  Wasteful.     242 
Woman's     Influence.     242,     333, 

354 


INDEX     OF    SUBJECTS 


397 


"  Woman's  Thought,  A."     311 
Women,  Cunning  of.     314 
Women  Foolish,   made   to  match 

Men.     80 
Women,  Greek.     86-90,  173,  367, 

375 

Women,      Tesuistical.     343 
Women,  Obstinate.     72 
Women,  Painted.     173,  249 
Women,  Paradise  and.     63 
Women  Riddles.     94 
Women's  Chatter  not  changed  in 

Two  Thousand  Years.     90 
Women's   Self  Sacrifice.     62,   72, 

361 

Wooing  and  Winning.     236 
Words,  Mere.     361-2 
Wordsworth.     29-30,    54,     108-9, 

175-8,  203-4,  248 
Wordsworth,    Defects   of.     248 
Wordsworth,    Influence    of.       54, 

108,   177-8 
Wordsworth,    Parodies  on.      248, 

253 

Work.     83,  108,  204,  240, 262,  278 
Work  and  Worship.     355 


Work  Neglected,  Remorse  for. 

136 
World,  Ancient  and  Modern,  The. 

95 

World  Creed,  An  Old.  231 
World  is  Young,  The.  16 
World,  Realities  of  the  Spiritual. 

272 

World,  Seduction  of.  22 
World,  The  Unjust.  170 
World,  The  Wanton.  22 
Worlds,  Visible  and  Invisible. 

236 

Worship.     141,  261 
Worth,  Intrinsic.     277 

Xenophon.     376 

Yea,  The  Everlasting.     83 
Young  Life.     273 
Young   Seventy   Years.     240 
Youth  and  Age.     xvi,  130, 267 
Youth  and  Prohibition.     272-3 
Youth,  Ardent.     174 
Youth,  Heroic.     1 
Zimmern,  A.  E.     374 


199 


INDEX    OF    AUTHORS 


Aldrich,  A.  R.     24,  240 

Aldrich,  H.     160 

Aldrich,  T.  B.     130,  137 

Alexander,  W.     136 

Amiel.     149,  201 

Anonymous.      77,  135,  148,  182, 

198,   225,   229,    286,   308,   349 
(See  also  Authors  not  traced). 
Aristotle.     367,  369,  370 
Arnold,  E.,  Sir    58,  105 
Arnold,  M.        15,   127,   152,   162, 

226,  236,  237,  265 
Aurelius,  Marcus.     215 
Augustine,  St.     263 
Austin,  A.     282 
Authors  not  traced.      27,  35,  73, 

91,    112,    120,    124,    127,    130, 

136,   142,    161,    164,   226,   227, 

231,  236,   240,   241,   242,   261, 

268,   314 

(Sec  also  Anonymous). 
Bacon.       151,  178,  206,  226,  233 
Bailey,  P.  J.      12,    21,   48,    101, 

229,  257, 

Bain,  A.     102,  205 
Balzac.     162 
Bateson,  W.    247 
Beaumont,  F.      313 
Beddoes,  T.  L.     157,  262,  305 
Bentham,  Jeremy.     116,  181 
Billing,  W.     354 
Blackstone,  181 

Blake,  W.     106,    109,    115,    166 
Blanc,  C.     283 
Boreham,  F.  W.     52,  205 
Bossuet.     123 
Boswell.     124,  196,  197 
Bourdillon,  F.  W.     334 
Boyd,  A.  K.  H.     197,  198 
Brarhwaite,  R.     228,  253 
Bray.     153-155 
Bromfield,  J.     170 


Brougham.     182 

Brown,  John.     362 

Brown,  T.  E.     169,  180 

Brown,  B.     122 

Browne,  SirT.  72, 108, 123, 138, 236 

Browning,  E.  B.  12,  24,  45,  144, 
152,  157,  213,  285,  354 

Browning,  R.  13,  20,  24,  46, 
71,  84,  104,  114,  118,  149,  193, 
195,  204,  218,  224,  225,  233, 
234,  242,  249,  255,  256,  260, 
262,  269,  270,  275,  276,  284, 
285,  303,  313,  317,  319,  333, 
349,  356 

Bryant,  W.  C.     285 

Buchanan,  R.  3,  20,  74,  84, 
97,  114,  184,  215,  269,  287,  294 

Burns,  R.     41 

Bunyan.     176 

Byron.     71,  104,  170,  332 


Calverley,  C.  S.     69,  107,  352 

Campbell,  T.     116 

Campion,  T.     126,  321 

Canning,  G.     223 

Carlyle,  T.     7,  83,  323,  331,  332, 

355 

Carroll,   Lewis.     35,  70,  190 
Chatterton,  T.     42 
Chaucer.     121,  212 
Choenlus.     188 
Cholmondeley,  Hester.     77 
Cleveland,  John.     197 
Clough,    A.    H.     125,    152,    167 

24l,  257,  281 
Colenso,  Bishop.     344 
Coleridge,  D.     295 
Coleridge,  S.  T.     xvi,  30,  51,  72, 

74,  78,  85,  93,   114,  146,  210, 

226,  252,   271,  301,   312,   315, 

336,  343,  344,  350 


400 


INDEX     OF    AUTHORS. 


Colling,  M.     146 
Congreve.     97 
Conway,  M.  D.     6,  64,  343 
Corcoran,  P.     337 
Corneille,  T.     270 
Cory,  W.     11,  347 
Cowley,  A.     238 
Cowper,  W.     117 
Crashaw,  Richard.     361 

Darwin,  C.     318 

Dekker,  T.     133 

De  Musset,  A.     300 

De  Quincey.     34,  132,  227 

De  Rabutin.     49 

De  Stael,  Mme.     61,  164,  313 

Dickens,  Chas.     34,  90,  98,  264, 

284 

Dickinson,  G.  Lowes.     368 
Disraeli.     228 
Dobson,  A.     360 
Donatus.     xii 
Donne,  J.     61,  73,  247,  286 
Douglas,  M.     232 
Dry  den,  J.     70,  118 
Du  Lorens.     339 

Earle,  J.     310 

Edmunds,  A.  J.     170,  171 

Eliot,  George,  iii,  12,  21,  33, 
39,  62,  80,  96,  97,  120,  131, 
139,  159,  170,  192,  203,  227, 
249,  255,  256,  262,  269,  274, 
279,  314,  322,  327,  333,  335, 
336,  355,  361 

Elmogadessi,  A.   E.     222 

Emerson,  R.  W.  1,  5,  25,  121, 
133,  158,  189,  205,  210,  221, 
260,  280,  351,  355 

Epitaphs.     96,  188,  232,  354 

Euripides.    372,  374 

Fitzgerald,  E.      132,  147,  194 

Fletcher  of  Saltoun.     352 

Foote,  S.      228 

Fox,  Caroline.     296,  313,  361 

Franklin.     135 

Fuller,  T.    172 

Galton,  Sir  F.     374 
Gascoigne,  G.      80,  321 
Gibbon.     49 
Gilder,  R.  W.     311 
Gissing,  G.     265,  292 


Glover,  T.  R.      166 

Goethe.     17,  136 

Goldsmith,  O.     139 

Gordon,  A.  L.     360 

Gosse,  E.     128,  333,  338 

Greek  Anthology.     8,  9,  10,  11, 

Gray,  T.     109 

Hafiz.     63 

Hardinge,  W.  M.     8 
Hardy,  T.     115 
Harrison,  Jane.     292 
Hawthorne,  N.     361 
Heine,  H.     222,  287 
Helps,  A.     54,  233 
Herbert,  G.     63,  306 
Herodotus.     311,  333 
Herrick,  R.     73,  122,  239 
Hilton,  A.  C.     49 
Hobhouse,  Professor.     165 
Hodgson,  R.     102,  104,  105,  108, 
136,  207,  259,  267,  288,  340,  359 
Holland,  Lord.     359 
Holmes,  O.  W.     59,  161,  240 
Homer.     218 
Hood,  T.     30,    349 
Horace,     19,  202,  325 
Howe,  Mrs.  J.  W.     240 
Hugo,  Victor.     59,  285,  321,  338 
Hunt,  Leigh.     252,    278 
Hunter,  W.  A.     338 
Huxley,  T.  H.     64,  134 

Irving,  W.     165 
Isocrates.     202 

Tames,  W.     148,  165 

Jefferies,  R.     351 

Jeffrey,  Lord.     132 

Jerome,  St.     xii 

Johnson,  Dr.     178,   196 

Jones,  Sir  W.     268 

Jonson,  Ben.     10,   178,   335,   339 

Kant,  I.     349,  350 
Keats,  J.     118,    121,     125,     149, 
160,    162,    166,    271,    303,    314 
Keble,  J.     55 
Kinglake,  A.  W.     25 
Kingsley,  Chas.     47,    221,    232 
Kipling,  R.     7,  36,  194,  242,  244 
Knight,  E.  F.     163 
Kjiowlea,  F.  L.     332 


INDEX     OF     AUTHORS- 


401 


Lamb,  Chas.     36,   159,   312,   316 

Landor,  W.  S.     59,  322,  325,  330, 

Lang,  A.     90 

Latimer,  Bishop.     137 

Lecky,  W.  E.  H.     136 

Le  Galliene,  R.     53,    188 

Leigh,  H.  S.     182,  253 

Lessing.     250 

Lichtenberg.     146 

Lilly,  W.  S.     207 

Lincoln,  Abraham.     150,    306 

Lind,  Jenny.     261 

Litany,  Monkish.     309 

Littltdale,  R.  F.     123 

Livingstone,  R.  W.     290 

Locke,  J.     179,  180,  226 

Locker-Lampson,  F.     289 

Logia  of  Jesus.     331 

Longfellow.     263,  280,  355 

Lovelace,  R.     321 

Loveman,  R.     350 

Lowell,  J.  R.     2,  80,  91,  98,  113, 

150,  229,  264,  268 
Lowry,  H.  D.     29,    146,   253 
Lyall,  Sir  A.     57,    110 
Lynch,  T.  T.     52,  239 
Lytton,  Bulwer.     241 
Lytton,  Earl  of.     70,  359 


Macaulay,  Lord.     312 
MacDonald,  G.     40,   42,    63,    86, 

169,    179,    212,    244,    269,    287 
Macpherson,  J.     231 
Maine,  Sir  Henry.     101 
Mangan,  J.  C.     131 
Marlowe.     41 
Marston,  P.  B.     53 
Martial.     91,  183 
Martineau,  J.     15,  34,  51,  66,  83 

10 J,  140,  141,  257,  280,  303,  314 
Masnair.     189 
Mason,  C.  A.     282 
Massey,  G.     22,    125,    143,    253,      ! 

274,  315 

Maule,  W.  H.     183 
Melville,  H.     286 
Melville,  G.  S.  Whyte-.     324 
Menzies,  P.  S.     271 
Meredith,  George.     122,  213,  251,      i 

258,  294,  302,  326 
Meredith,  Owen.     70,   369 
Middleton,  R.     136 


Mill,  J.  S.     54 

Milton.     139,  155,  211,  214,  311 

Moasi.     351 

Moliere.     32,   341 

Monod,  A.     196 

Montaigne.     114,    149,    229,    312 

Montenaeken,  L.     119 

Moody,  W.  V.     vii 

Moore,  T.     181,  325,  358 

Morris,  Lewis.     16 

Morris,  W.     4,    30.    41,    60,    271, 

275 

Murray,  Gilbert.     372,  374 
Myers,  F.  W.  H.     133,  150,  199, 

205,   277,  316,  339,  340,    346, 

363 

Navlor,  H.  D.     9,  10,  292 

Neale,   T.  M.     263 

Nicharchus.     306 

Niebuhr.     214 

Noel,  Roden.     13 

Novalis.     144,    149,    196,   202 

Oldyg,  W.     354 
Oliphant,  L.     178 
Osier,  W.     148 
O'Sullivan,  V.     319 
Ouida.     214,  215 

Paine,  Thomas.     6,  134,  196,  247 

Pascal.     11,  293 

Pater,  W.     309 

Patmore,    Coventry.       147,    J56. 

242,  309 
Paul,  St.     134 
Payne,  J.     149,    162,    163,    295, 

318 

Percy.     156 
Penn,  William.     228 
Phillips,  J.     274 
Phillips,  S.     323 
Pioz/i,  Mrs.     196 
Plato.     129 
Pliny.     215,  334 

Plutarch.     175,  198,  250,  362,  370 
Poe,  E.  A.     259 
Pollock,  Sir  F.     221 
Pope,  A.     19,   91,   94,    148,   204, 

249,  251,  256,  275 
Praed,  W.  M.     206,    243,    356 
Procter,  B.  W.  (Barry    Cornwall) 

117 


402 


INDEX     OF     AUTHORS 


Proverbs.     39,  51,  184,  197,  267, 

306,  361 

Prowse,  W.  J.     174,  236 
Puttenham,  G.     356,   357 

Quarles,  Francis.     1 
Quiller-Couch,  Sir  A.     17 

Raleigh,  Sir  W.     233 

Kenan.     68 

Richter,  J.  P.  F.     72 

Rogers,  R.  C.     307 

Rogers,  Samuel.     36,   105,   132 

Rossetti,  C.     27,  28,  58,  86,  161, 

180 
Rossetti,  D.  G.     12,  49,  79,  122, 

135,   201,   248,    255,    324,    330 
Ruskin,  J.     132,    137,    159,    164, 

192,    275,    283,    335,    370,    373 

Sadi.     277 

Sand,  George.     360 

Sappho.     292 

Sayce,  A.  H.     66 

Schreiner,  Olive.     96,     239,     251 

Scott,  Sir  W.     69,    279 

Scott,  W.  B.     337 

Scotus  Erigena.     42 

Sears,  E.  H.    260 

Seebohm,  B.    96 

Seeley,  Sir  J.  R.     16,     96,     172, 

267,    330 
Selden.     90 

Seneca.     12,  33,  295,  337 
Shakespeare,  W.     viii,  27,  36,  72, 

73,  102,  167,  184,  286,  302,  336 
Shelley.     10,  73,    85,    107,    114, 

173,   209,   210,   211,   214,   231, 

239,  279,  289,  361,  362 
Shepherd,  N.  G.     34 
Sidney,  Sir  Phillip.     159 
Simonides.     290 
Smith,  Adam.     346 
Smith,   Alexander.     27,   78,    113, 

158,  230,  264,  281,  347 
Smith,  S.  C.  Kaines.     368,  380 
Smith,     Sydney.     70,     78,     124, 

227,  325 
Smith,  W.  C.     96,  200,  268,  259, 

345 

Sophocles.  107 
Spartianus.  238 
Spenser,  E.  26,  206 


Spencer,     Herbert.         101,     103, 

291 

Squire,  J.  C.     141 
Sterling,  John.     313 
Sterne,  L.     41,  100,  283,  307 
Stephen,  J.  K.     131,  248 
Stephens,  J.   B.     55 
Stetson,  C.  P.     261,  359 
Stevenson,    R.    L.     51,    8],    229, 

255 

Stowe,  H.  B.     144 
Suckling,  Sir  John.     362 
Swift,  Jonathan.     72 
Swinburne,  A.  C.    31,  42,  46,  78, 

202,   216,   219,   220,   259,   274, 

341,  347 

Tabb,  J.  B.     85,    187,   316 

Tacitus.     49 

Tamerlane.     338 

Taylor,  Jeremy.     197,  252 

Tennyson,  A.     x,   85,    129,    136, 

139,   156,    199,   250,   263,   270, 

278,   282,   290,   302,   329,   352, 

356 
Thackeray.     62,     81,     130,     263, 

266 

Theobald,  L.     337 
Theocritus.     86 
Thomas,  E.  M.     316 
Thompson,  Francis.     11,  93 
Thomson,  J.     95,   105,  166,   167, 

225,  234 

Thoreau,  H.  D.     344 
Thucydides.     5 
Trench,  H.     82 
Truman,  J.     175 
Turner,  C.  Tennyson.     327 
Tupper,  M.     115 
Tyndall,  J.     65 

Vaughan,  H.     84,  203,  284 
Vaughan,  R.  A.     188,  282 
Verrall,  A.  W.     377 
Verrall,  Mrs.  A.  W.     194 
Virgil.     107,  285 
Voltaire.     32,  49,  160 

Waddington,  S.     201,  348 
Wallace,  A.  R.     280,  377 
Waller,  E.     72,  240 
Walpole,  H.     284 
Warner,  C.  D.     201,  314,  345 


INDEX     OF    AUTHORS. 


403 


Waterhouse,  E.     142 

Way,  A.  S.     372 

Wesley,  J.     320 

Westb'ury,  F.  A.     28 

Westwood,  T.     62 

White,  J.  Blanco.     252 

Whitman,  Walt.     360 

Whittier,   T.  G.     3,  28,  142,  160, 

195 

Whyte-Melville,  G.  J.     324 
Wilberforce,  Bishop.     344 
Williamson,  F.  S.     168 


Wordsworth,  W.  1,  29,  40,  45, 
82,  90,  97,  109,  122,  125,  135, 
138,  146,  152,  164,  204,  211, 
212,  223,  246,  248,  276,  278, 
303,  340,  350,  378 

Wotton,  Sir  H.     232 

Xenophanes.     128 
Xenophon.     292,  367 

Yeats,  W.  B.     345 
Younghusband,«Sir  F.     178 
Zimmermann,  J.  G.     362 


Zimmern,  A. 


374,  378 


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